Two Degrees of Separation Part II
by Helen West
Summary: Hannibal Heyes puts it all on the line for his dream of going to college. Follows Two Degrees of Separation, which I can't post on any longer. The Original Two Degrees of Separation follows Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York, which Follows Not Again! All three must be read for this to make sense. This is a Heyes story, but Kid appears very tellingly.
1. Chapter 1

Technical Problems having so beset this chapter, I am having to start a new story so that it can go up, following Chapter 10 of the original _Two Degrees of Separation_. Here are the disclaimers from the top of the first _Two Degrees of Separation_:

This story follows _Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York_, or actually partially overlaps it. And HH to NY follows _Not Again!_ You just have to read both of those stories first for this story to make any sense at all. This story gets in all kinds of things – drama, romance, hurt-comfort, and even some comedy. The beginning of this story is set about three years after the pilot and about one year after _Not Again!_ The narrative concentrates on Heyes, but the Kid gets plenty of action. While this is about Heyes' years in college, don't expect an academic story! Far from it! A lot of it isn't even set in New York, much less the classroom. As Heyes' long-suffering advisor is heard to complain, "How are we ever going to get you graduated if you insist on running around playing cowboys and Indians all the time?"

Again, I must apologize for the use for my own purposes of characters I didn't invent. And I must also apologize for manipulation of the symptoms of Aphasia, a very real and very serious condition, for purely fictional purposes. I have given poor Heyes Aphasia after a bullet wound to the head. Also, to paraphrase what Dorothy Sayers said of Peter Wimsey and Balliol College, Oxford, I must lastly apologize for saddling Columbia University with so wayward an alumnus as Hannibal Heyes.

Again, I dedicate this story to the teachers among our readers. By now I hope the reasons are obvious. I would also like to dedicate it to second cousins. Although my two beloved second cousins will never read this or know about it, they are both wonderful men who are as much geniuses as Heyes and as faithful relations as the Kid.

The next week, again on Saturday morning, Beth returned to the door to the small room on Hester Street. It was the day after the last exams of the semester. Beth knocked and waited to see if her "Joshua" would let her in. She felt sure he would be there.

The door opened instantly. There was the man she had known as Joshua Smith standing, waiting for her. He looked at Beth with sad, worried eyes, with deep shadows under them. "Beth, I told you it's . . . dangerous for you to be here – and not just for me!" Beth silently stood her ground and looked at the man defiantly. He sighed with resignation and let her in.

"Beth," he said wearily, once the door had closed, "what do you want from me?"

Beth gazed with longing at her mystery man. "J . . . for God's sake, at least tell me your real name!"

Heyes shook his head, his eyes closed in pain. "That's the last thing I can tell you!"

Beth snorted. "Don't be so arrogant! I won't have heard of you. I don't know about any real western outlaws – just what Jim's told me from those novels he reads. Surely none of that is real!" "Joshua" shook his head. "Can't you just tell me your first name – just so I have something real to call you – something other than, than an alias? Just your first name can't give you away, can it?"

Heyes hooted, "It sure would!" He had always hated his first name; now he hated it more than ever.

Beth's eyebrows went up in surprise. She was heartily curious by now to know what name he could be so certain would, in itself, betray him. There were only a few western outlaws who were known coast-to-coast and most of those were dead.

Beth tried to move toward this man she loved, or thought she did, but he retreated a step for every step she took toward him. It was with Beth in his arms that he had slipped so badly two weeks before. He didn't dare trust himself close to her now. "Don't you know that you can trust me? Dr. Leutze knows, doesn't he?" "Joshua" nodded. Beth was determined. "You trust him, but not me?"

"Joshua"nodded again. "I had to trust him. Having me there could have put the whole clinic at risk. He had to know. But now, with that cop on Long Island and his friends looking for me, the danger's worse – a lot worse. I don't want you to go to prison for being with me! Prison! Friends of – of ours – have been put on trial for aiding and abetting before. I can't let you take that chance!"

"I'd say that's up to me!" Beth remained defiant.

"No!" Heyes was equally adamant. "This is my . . . responsibility. Just mine! I've spent most of my life like a boy, running away from real life, doing as I pleased. You aren't my teacher any longer – I'm not just your student or a patient! I'm a man! Let me be a man. This is life or death, Beth. It's my life or death. I can't let it be yours!"

Beth was in an agony of worry – but also curiosity. How could this man have gotten himself into so much trouble when he was so smart and so gifted! "Alright, you're a man. I ought to know. How on earth did you get to be an outlaw, when it's so clear what a good man you are?"

"Am I? Aren't many who think that! How did I . . . Beth, you couldn't . . . understand how it was. You've had your own losses, I know, but you can't know . . . " The man sighed again and tried to turn away.

"I sure won't understand if you won't tell me," Beth prodded at him. "Does this have to do – with what you would never tell me – with what happened when you were a boy in Kansas?"

The man's eyes closed again for an instant as he gathered his courage to tell a terrible story. "Yeah. I guess it all does." There was a long, dreadful pause.

"My parents . . . and my cousin's parents . . . and all our brothers and sisters, were . . . murdered in the Kansas border wars. They were murdered and. . . " He stopped, the anguish on his face all too eloquent. There was more than he could not, would not, say, perhaps to anyone ever. Beth looked at him, tears welling in her eyes, guessing at the brutal realities of war that he couldn't share. It took a minute for Heyes to gather himself to tell the parts of the story that he could face.

"I was nine, my little second cousin was only seven. There wasn't anyone left but us. We had no place to go, no one to look after us. They took all the food and the horses and they burned the houses and barns. With men . . . scouring the country for food, there wasn't much left for us." It was hard for Heyes even to say this, to think about it, much less to think of what it might mean for Beth to know it.

"Oh my God! What did you do, Joshua," Beth asked, forgetting that Joshua wasn't really his name. It was the only name she knew. Oh, how she wanted to how onto him, to comfort him, to feel his warmth close!

Heyes stumbled through the story, pacing in agony, shortening things as much as he could. "We ran and we hid. We hunted jack rabbits. We stole. Mostly, we starved. We wound up in a home for . . . waywards. I don't really remember how that happened. I was starving too bad when they took us. They didn't feed us much, and taught us less, and they worked us hard. We tried to get away, but they hauled us back over and over. They beat us then – worse than before. We finally took off for good when I was 15 and my cousin was 13. I figured we were old enough to make it with just the two of us. We stole horses and rode as far away as we could get. We tried to find work. Sometimes we did find a work for a bit here and there. There were all the old soldiers and ex-slaves looking for work, too. A couple of skinny kids were nothing to anyone. We – well – you don't want to know all that.

So . . . I wound up riding with an outlaw gang. It was the first time since . . . home . . . that there was anyone but J . . . my cousin who cared about me . . . at all. Not that it was . . . disinterested. I had – um – skills they valued. At least they made sure I didn't starve. The . . . my cousin – he tried to stay away – to make an honest living. But he was too good with his gun and guys kept ch . . . forcing him to fight. He joined the third gang I was with – he needed someone to watch his back and so did I. That last gang was more . . . decent than the first ones.

But I still – it was wrong to get my cousin into crime, just because I couldn't find anything better to do myself! God! If only I could go back . . . live it over . . . and fix it . . . do better." He looked down at Beth, the agonized guilt plain on his face.

Beth stared at him, totally appalled. This brilliant man, this man she was so sure was good – he had been through so much. He had done so many things that shocked her. And he felt so terrible about it all – most of all it tormented him to think about what his actions had meant for his cousin. Beth asked, "How long were you with gangs?"

"Fifteen years. God! Fifteen years!" Heyes looked away from Beth, trying to cope with his overwhelming regrets. When Heyes and the Kid had been riding together, escaping from posses and other dangers, there had been no time to stop and think about what their choices had meant. He had often been so caught up in his addiction to danger, that he had actually enjoyed their adventures. Now, his very distance from the Kid had allowed Heyes to realize more rationally how he felt about his own past, and the Kid's.

"Posters went up about us all over in the West. We brought in good money – good for us – bad for the banks and trains and the people with money in those safes. But we were never wanted for murder - the rule was no killing. We enjoyed having enough to eat, a roof over our heads, clothes without holes in them, some fun times, some respect."

Beth was appalled. "But weren't you in awful danger all the time? Did you ever get caught – jailed?"

"Sure. Lots a' times." Beth's mystery man grinned wickedly at her and looked incredibly blasé about being in jail. This was so foreign to everything that Beth knew!

Beth asked in bafflement, "But if they had you in jail, why didn't you go to prison?"

He actually laughed at that. "They take men who've just taken fifty thousand out of a thousand dollar safe and they put them behind a 50 cent cell lock with a badly paid deputy to guard them. What do you think happens?"

"If it was that easy, why did you stop stealing?" Beth sounded a bit angry – how could anyone who seemed, in the life she knew, to be such a decent and gifted guy, be so at home with theft and jail break?

The easy smile vanished. Heyes ducked his head, but not in time for Beth to miss the pain in his eyes. "We never would kill. That was our hard and fast rule. But people started to die anyway – and suffer – because of us. Or . . . we . . .woke up and realized what a lot of harm we'd been causing to decent people all along. How many people's life savings did we get away with? How many lives did we wreck? We'll never know, now. We – my cousin and I – we met a family that we had . . . ruined . . . with one of our jobs. It had seemed like easy money to us and only some company to miss the money. But we got to know this farmer and his wife and kids – lost all their savings in that job. And that wasn't even the worst. . ." He paused, struggling with his sorrow before he could go on. "Finally, we'd had enough. Just figured it was wrong and we went straight. We thought we might get an . . . amnesty. They offered, but it's never come through."

He stopped and Beth just stared at him in the silent, trying to comprehend the life he had described for her. It was utterly beyond her ken.

So he went on. "We went straight two years before you met me. God, that was hard! After having things pretty decent for a few years, to be running and sometimes starving, month after month. We had some good times, I'll admit it. Some fun here and there, met some good people. But it never lasted. Any time we thought we'd found a place where we could stay a while, get decent jobs, something would happen, someone would . . . recognize us. Some bounty hunter, some sheriff, some outlaw. We'd have to go on the run again. I remember the . . . my cousin saying that when we retired from crime he didn't think we'd also retire from eating and drinking and sleeping in beds. He lost his faith in me. Got to missing the good old days with Devil's Hole, bad as it was sometimes."

"Devil's Hole?" Beth knew the name. Beth's mystery man looked up in real distress. How had he slipped and said that name aloud? Now the truth would have to come out. But then, he had always known that it would.

Beth said, with growing bitterness, "I've heard of the Devil's Hole Gang - the gang with Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes. Those awful outlaws! I don't know how Jim can read books about those men like they were heroes. He tries to tell me about it and I tell him I can't stand it! So they got you involved? Who did that?"

"I guess you'd have to say Heyes did the dirty deed."Beth's friend smiled with bitter irony and his voice had a hard edge to it.

Beth was roused to fury. "Hannibal Heyes! Awful man, tempting decent good men like you and your cousin into a gang, ruining your lives! If I had him here, I'd kill him!" Heyes turned and starred at her, shocked by the violence of her words. He had always seen her as such a gentle woman. He knew she was exaggerating; he doubted that Beth could ever kill or even wound anyone - physically. But the emotion behind the words was real enough and it cut him to the bone.

"What did you do in the gang?" Beth asked bitterly.

"I, um, opened things." He looked away from her, toward the floor, blushing in shame.

"Things?" Beth asked.

"Come on, you know! Doors, windows, strong boxes, safes . . . cells. And I . . . um . . . planned things – times, routes - you can figure it out – the math Mr. Robertson taught me came in mighty handy." His nervous pacing had led him to a window by Jim's bed. He stood looked out it with a fixed gaze, seeing nothing, but avoiding Beth's gaze. He waited for her reaction. If she knew any detail about the gang, she would know who had opened the safes. But apparently, she hadn't realized that.

Beth was still caught up in her hatred of a man she imagined to be a thousand miles away. "That awful man Heyes getting you to do those things! Taking a decent men and making them into criminals. He must be a monster." Beth was getting angrier and angrier, and more and more worried about her Joshua.

"Oh come on, not such a monster! Who do you think made the rule about no killing? No other gang cared if they killed or not."

"Why do you defend him? After what he did to you?" Beth's hatred would not be softened by this consideration.

Heyes was angry in his turn. The resistance to killing during his crimes was the one thing on which Heyes had built what little self respect he had left. And Beth had made it clear that she neither knew nor much cared. Crime was crime and she was against it all.

Beth demanded to know, "Why are you still loyal to that awful man? You don't still know that Heyes, do you?" Beth looked offended to even say the name.

"It would be awful hard for me not to know Heyes," her mysterious host replied with a bark of harsh laughter.

Beth's fear grew – for herself and for her former student. "What?" A dreadful thought struck her – right out of Jim's western dime novels. "Don't tell me he's your brother or something."

"Or something."

"What?! Who is that Heyes to you?"

There was a tense pause. Beth's host seemed to wrestle with himself before he went on. He had come so close – now he had to tell her the rest, or this determined researcher would find it out for herself – and maybe cause terrible mischief along the way.

Heyes looking directly, very purposefully, into her eyes so that he would take the full brunt of her reaction. He said, "Heyes is . . . me."

Beth's mouth fell open and she just stared, stunned and utterly horrified. In reaction against Jim's hero worship, she had built up a terrible image of Hannibal Heyes the utterly immoral outlaw – and she couldn't conceive of how he could be the same person as her beloved Joshua. As close as Heyes had led her to this truth, she hadn't been able to take that final step.

Suddenly, Heyes had a pistol in his hand, aimed at Beth's heart. He didn't cock the gun, but Beth didn't know enough to notice that.

"Miss Warren," said Heyes in a tense voice, "I think you'd better go. Now. And you'd better not come back here anymore. If you did, I'd be long gone. I know a little something about vanishing. I'm a professional at it."

"You don't need to pull a gun on me!" Beth was shaken. This wasn't at all the man she had thought she knew so well.

"You're the one who just threatened to murder me!" Suddenly Heyes was really angry. Beth began to be frightened of him. "Maybe it would the easiest way for you to get the ten thousand on my head! Or maybe now you're thinking it might be easier to take me in for the ten thousand alive rather than having to haul me in dead. Get out and get out now! Then I can leave this tenement, this city, this life – go back west where I belong! And I'll let the Kid know he and the lady he wants to marry had better hit the road, too, before you set the law on them. They're very decent folks, but now they'll both be fugitives. She wouldn't turn on him, not ever." He glared at her furiously, his fear swallowing up his love.

Now Beth was the sad and sorry one. She felt frightened, and yet she couldn't help but trust Heyes, as Doctor Leutze did. "You don't have to go. Of course I won't turn you in. Or your partner. I couldn't possibly. I thought I knew you. Maybe I didn't, but I know you're a brilliant student, and I still think you're a decent man. You've got to stay and finish your degree! You've put in so much work! What a waste, to go back to crime and forget your academic career!"

Heyes answered bitterly, "I – we - wouldn't go back to crime, not ever. The Kid and I would die first – we probably will. That big price on our heads is dead or alive – I told you. How can I believe you that you won't turn us in yourself, Miss Warren? You called me a . . . monster, said you'd murder me, just because you didn't know what face went with the name. Now you know and you think I'll trust you with my life and my partner's life and his girl's life, too?"

"You are safe! And so is your partner and his fiancé! I promise, I won't turn either one of you in! I promise! I promise! You don't really think I'd turn you in for money, do you? Have you locked up for the rest of your lives? Never! Never! I swear it!" Beth was determined to leave Heyes in no doubt about his safety.

"Alright, alright! But I don't think we'll be seeing any more of each other, will we? Somehow, I don't think you want to be associated with a mere . . . criminal." His face held a strange combination of anger and regret.

"Of course not! I won't turn you in, but you're right. I'm not going to stay with an outlaw. I just couldn't do that. I just . . . I couldn't." She truly could no longer imagine how it would be possible for her to remain in a romantic relationship with this man. The very thought had the ludicrous quality of a bad dime novel.

Beth's voice turned suddenly strange even to her - cold and distant, as she steeled her heart so that she could stand to walk out - to leave the man she loved. "Good-bye Mr. Heyes." Beth drew herself up with dignity. She turned and walked out, not glancing behind her.

As she left she heard Heyes say behind her in a very quiet monotone, "Good-bye Miss Warren." As she left, he collapsed onto his bed. The door closed. He sat, stunned. It was all over at last.

Unless Beth broke her word. Then it would be only beginning.

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Beth's rapid walk did not slow down until she stepped into a cab. Then the horse was trotting swiftly, carrying her away from Hester Street. She broke down and sobbed. She felt terribly torn. Had she done wrong to leave a dangerous criminal in place at Columbia University, or had she done wrong to hurt and leave the man she loved? Could both be equally wrong? Both hurt!

Beth was tormented. That night she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She could not stop seeing the anguished the face of Joshua Smith, and then Hannibal Heyes with his face distorted with fury. Beth returned to Hester Street early the next morning. Jim was there, sleepily waking up to let Beth in.

"Jim, where's – your roommate?" Beth asked in anxiety.

"G-g-gone home I g-g-guess, B-B-Beth. When I g-g-got b-b-back yesterday, he was g-g-gone. All his st-st-stuff's g-g-gone, t-t-too. S-s-surprised me. Why?"

Beth, tears starting in her eyes, just shook her head and ran down the stairs.

Jim shouted after her "Who is h-h-he?"

Beth did not answer.


	2. Chapter 2

In Louisville, the Kid was passing the telegraph office on his way to the dry goods store when the telegrapher popped out of his office and took him by the arm. "Mr. Jones, I got a message for you, just now, from New York. Sounds damn urgent."

The Kid snatched up the slip of paper and read the rambling, panicked message as rapidly as he had ever read anything in his life:

I told her stop I did not mean to but I had to stop she left me stop she said no danger to me or you stop I believe her stop how can I trust her stop I do not dare go home to bring trouble stop good bye stop

Clitterhouse, New York, New York

The Kid stared at the little piece of paper in horror. He knew that he had no time to figure out the fine points – who "she" could possibly be and how Heyes had come to reveal their true identities to her. The Kid only knew that he had to respond instantly so the message would reach Heyes before he left the telegraph office in far off New York to go to some unknown place and perhaps never see his partner ever again.

Jones grabbed the telegrapher's vest, "Reply now. I'll dictate." The telegrapher opened his mouth to say something about company policies, but then shut it and stood with his hand poised above the key.

The Kid needed only two words:

Come home stop

T J

The Kid had known instantly what "Clitterhouse" meant. By taking on this name, Heyes was saying that he believed that he had betrayed his partner just as the loathsome Sheriff Clitterhouse had betrayed them after they had gone straight. The Kid could not believe that his partner had truly betrayed him – it must be only how a distraught Heyes was seeing things. The Kid desperately hoped to God that Heyes was right – that the woman he had told about their identities would not turn them in. And he prayed that Heyes would get the message in time – before he left the Kid's and Cat's lives, perhaps forever.

The telegraph remained silent for a terrible, eternal minute, and then another, and another, and another. Had Heyes left and missed the message? Or was he deciding how to reply? Or would he never reply?

Then the telegraph line clattered briefly to life. The telegrapher wrote down the signal. The Kid waited breathlessly for the transcription. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, although it was only seconds, the telegrapher handed him the message. It read:

On my way stop thank you stop

JS

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The Kid went down to the Louisville train station four days later. It was an overcast, warm, day in late May threatening rain. He wasn't sure if his partner would even be in that day on this train from the East. If Heyes had waited even an hour to actually catch the train in New York after his brief telegram, he wouldn't arrive until the next day. But the Kid had the distinct feeling that when Heyes had telegraphed "on my way," that he had meant it literally. And the Kid also had the feeling that his partner would need friends around him right now.

Sure enough, when the 12:06 pulled in, a single figure jumped off and walked over to the Kid, weighed down by saddlebags and a carpet bag, bulging with books. Heyes was still in his eastern suit. It looked like he had slept in it for the past four days, not even bothering to change his shirt. If he had slept at all – there were black circles under his very bloodshot eyes. Heyes' head was down as he approached the Kid. He didn't say a word.

Since there was no one within earshot, the Kid said, "Hi Heyes. How are you?"

Heyes started at the sound of his own real name and he looked around anxiously. "Are you crazy?" he whispered urgently to his partner.

"No," the Kid replied in a level voice, not whispering, "Are you? You think I didn't look around first?"

Heyes sighed deeply. "Sorry. But ever since . . . you know . . . I've had the galloping jumps."

"Looks like it. Did you get any sleep at all?" Heyes shook his head, his greasy, very long hair flying back and forth with the motion.

The Kid looked at his friend with compassion, "Come on home and get some sleep, partner."

"Thank you!" Heyes said with feeling. He would never take that phrase for granted again. The Kid knew that his partner was thanking him for far more than a mere bed for the night.

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When Heyes woke up hours later, called downstairs to ask for a tub and hot water. He took a luxurious bath, washed his hair and toweled it dry. Then he dressed in his western clothes. They were wrinkled, but they felt good on. With his hair still a bit damp and curling up at the ends, Heyes joined the Kid and Cat for dinner in the back room of Christy's Place where they could have some privacy. Heyes sat down silently and avoided his friends' eyes.

"I'll ask you again, Heyes," said the Kid, "How are you?"

"I don't know." Heyes yawned sleepily. He sounded detached. "Exam results aren't out yet – or did you get a telegram? I didn't even tell anyone where I was going, but Dr. Leutze'll figure it out. He'll sure send me word."

Cat asked, "What about Beth Warren, wouldn't she?"

At the sound of the name, Heyes' ducked his head and fell silent again.

"Oh," said Cat. "Sorry Heyes. So she's the one . . ."

Heyes nodded without looking up. The Kid and Cat exchanged worried glances. This explained a lot. It wasn't good news at all. They both knew how much Heyes respected Beth Warren and how much he depended on her and trusted her. If he had tried to have a romantic relationship with her as well and it had failed that spectacularly . . . They both hated to think what Heyes was going through. And wondered what he would do next.

The Kid wouldn't have dared to prod his partner at that point, but Cat went on and asked. "So, what are you gonna do?"

Heyes, still not meeting her eyes, replied mechanically, "I don't know."

A long minute of silence passed before Heyes went on, running his hand through his drying hair with a familiar gesture. "I'm having some books shipped out here – hope you don't mind. I want to stay here for the summer, if it's alright with you. I'll study all I can – maybe work out some way to do a summer course or two by letter or something. Don't want to lose time – I got to get this degree finished soon as I can, come back home for good. And I don't want to go back to New York too soon with that police guy on Long Island, name of Tryon, still looking out for me and telling all his friends to do the same. Maybe it'll calm down over the summer."

"You know we're glad to have you, Heyes!" said Cat warmly.

"If you can do the books for us, you slacker!" said the Kid with a teasing grin.

Heyes looked up to see his partner smiling and laughing at him. He gave a wintery little smile back, "Yeah Kid, always glad to do the books. Keeps me from just twiddling my thumbs." It was a lame joke – the Kid and Cat knew how hard Heyes worked all the time.

Heyes went back to his room soon after dinner. Cat and the Kid assumed he was up there reading or doing math or some other school work as usual.

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But as the sun set, Heyes reappeared down stairs – this time in the front room. Looking around self-consciously, and noticing that the Kid and Cat were both absent, he walked deliberately over to the bar.

Heyes leaned on the bar as he had many a time, although the Kid wasn't at his side as he usually had been. "Your best whiskey, Joe!"

Joe fixed him with a level gaze. "No, sir."

"What the hell?" Heyes exclaimed, more to save face than anything else. With a sinking feeling, he knew what was going on.

"Orders of Mr. Jones."

Heyes looked at Joe angrily. "Well, if he's that cheap with his own partner, your worst whiskey."

"No, sir. No whiskey for Mr. Smith. Them's my orders." Fat blonde Joe looked a bit nervous. Heyes could be an intimidating man when he chose – and right now he chose.

"I'm floor manager and if I want whiskey . . ."

"Then you got to get it someplace else, Mr. Smith. It's as much as my job's worth to cross Mr. Jones. Nothing stronger than beer for you and only two of those." Joe's voice shook just enough for Heyes to notice it.

"Aw crap, my own partner! Damn insulting is what it is. Alright then, beer and make it snappy." Heyes knew what was going on. His partner knew him too well. Heyes had been forbidden the bar during his immediate recovery from aphasia. And when the bar was closed, all the booze had been not only locked up in the store room but secured behind an elaborate wax seal. If Heyes had picked the lock, his partner would have known instantly. Heyes guessed that the wax seal would be back in the morning when the bar closed. He sighed. He wished that his partner wasn't right about his weaknesses, but he was. Heyes could go years without abusing alcohol, but when he fell off the wagon, he fell hard.

Joe exhaled in relief now that Smith had settled for beer. He had been terrified that Smith would go out to another establishment, in which case Joe would have had to report it to Mr. Jones or Miss Christy; he knew that it would have made them very unhappy, and having Mr. Jones go after him would have made Mr. Smith very unhappy. And that would have made Miss Christy positively miserable. Joe could deal with ordinary fist and gun fights like any good bar tender, but a fight between Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones and Miss Christy would have been more than he could have stomached.

Heyes sipped meditatively on his beer. A few minutes later the Kid came and leaned at his side ordering his own beer and speaking very, very quietly to his partner, with a quick sideways glance. "Sorry, Heyes. But you know . . ."

"Yeah, I know." Heyes glanced at his partner. "My memory goes back before we went straight, you know. Just don't say any more, alright? Not another word about it." Heyes kept his own voice very low as well.

"I'm not a big talker, you know that."

"There's one of the biggest myths west of the Mississippi!"

"You met Valerie yet, new girl here? Might be just your type. She's real nice, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you."

But Heyes couldn't help but glance into the mirror behind the bar, which afforded him the sight of a stunning young woman with a pile of auburn hair. She was wearing a low-cut green dress that showed off her statuesque figure as she leaned on the piano. Heyes could hear her throaty voice singing along with an old western ballad that Ted was playing. Heyes swallowed hard. "Wow!" he thought.

Somehow it wasn't all that much later that Mr. Smith managed to make his way from the bar to the piano. "Good evening," he said to the voluptuous young woman as she finished her song. He couldn't help looking her up and down. "You must be new here. You weren't here last Christmas when I was here last – I'd sure have remembered. My name is Joshua Smith. I'll be floor managing over the summer, so I need to know everyone. Glad to meet you."

Miss Valerie smiled and her eyes flashed with pleasure. When Mr. Jones had told her about his partner, he hadn't mentioned how good looking he was! "I'm Valerie Brice. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smith. You're Mr. Jones' partner, aren't you? Back from New York? I'd love to hear all about the big city!"

Miss Valerie went with Mr. Smith over to the best table in the place. He brought her peppermint schnapps from the bar and brought his own beer over. They were on a first name basis immediately. There were certain perks to being floor manager, after all.

Suddenly the idea of consuming quantities of beer or whiskey just wasn't as interesting to Heyes as it had been earlier in the evening. And it wasn't all that much later yet that two people who had hardly met each other were quietly making their way up the stairs to get much, much better acquainted.

Yeah, the Kid knew his partner real well.


	3. Chapter 3

Much earlier in the morning than the Kid would have expected, Heyes came whistling down to breakfast. He wasn't a very good whistler, but it was an unmistakable sign of high spirits with Heyes – as the man himself knew well. He sat next to the Kid in the back room as Cat came in and out with pancakes and bacon. "Thanks, partner. You were right." He grinned.

"Ain't I always, when it comes to you and women?" The Kid asked, gleefully. "That gal will take all your cares away."

"No, Kid." Heyes looked hard at the Kid, suddenly very serious. "Only one woman can do that, and she's about seventeen hundred away from here. And she won't ever do it, anyway." Cat heard this and looked with concern at Heyes. She restrained herself from asking "After what she did to you!" The shadow in Heyes' dark eyes was unmistakable. It would take more than one night of pleasure to make him forget Beth, if anything ever could. However, he couldn't deny that the previous evening's events had raised his spirits some.

After breakfast, Heyes went out to the stable. The Kid started to follow him, but Heyes turned and looked at him. "Not today, Kid."

"Have it your way, Heyes." The Kid turned on his heel and went back to Christy's place, where plenty of work awaited him. He was disappointed to miss a ride on a nice late spring day, but he suspected he knew the reason behind Heyes' desire to ride alone. When the Kid saw his partner come back not much more than an hour later walking a bit stiffly, Curry knew that he had been right. Heyes, after he had had to give up riding on Long Island, had gotten completely out of shape for riding. He was embarrassed to have his partner see him working himself slowly back into shape. As he watched Heyes making his way gingerly up the steps to his room, the Kid had to make a mighty effort to restrain himself from snickering at his partner's discomfort.

The next day, Heyes was riding again pretty early. The Kid was out on horseback, too – taking some supplies up to their friend Cavanaugh on his mountain top with a pack mule. Cavanaugh didn't like to come down with the town folks, but he was always glad to see the Kid. On the way up the Kid heard a rapid series of shots. He sometimes encountered hunters up in the forest, but these shots didn't sound like a rifle – they sounded like a pistol. The Kid was in two minds as to whether to investigate the shots – he needed to stay away from trouble, not look for it. But as he continued up Cavanaugh's path, he heard another volley of shots, closer. He looked in the direction of the sound and a glimpse of a figure maybe a hundred feet away, facing away for the road and towards a mountain ridge. The figure seemed familiar. The Kid saw the man reach for his gun and fire another volley of six shots, then methodically reload his Colt. The Kid would have known those gestures anywhere. He tied his horse and mule by the road and walked toward where Heyes was target shooting. As the Kid got close, Heyes unloaded another volley at his targets that were far in the distance on the edge of a ridge. The Kid whistled – the shooting was faster and more accurate than anything the Kid had ever seen from Heyes – or almost anyone else but himself. Heyes whirled around, holding the pistol he had just emptied so impressively.

"Kid, damn it, don't sneak up on me like that!" Heyes yelled. "I could've shot your fool head off!"

"Not unless they've invented a seven-gun!" laughed the Kid. "You sure got those bullets on their way mighty fast! And hit everything you were shooting at! I didn't think you ever bothered to keep in shooting practice."

"Well, not so much when we were riding together. Had enough to do with planning and keeping in shape on locks and cards and figuring up stresses for the dynamite. But these days I got to watch my own back, so I figured I better get as good as my poor slow right hand will let me."

"And whose fault is that?" The Kid didn't like it to sound like he had deserted Heyes.

"Mine, Kid, all mine. I sure know that. If I weren't such a damn fool for studying, I'd have been back with you a year ago, watching your back. I'm right sorry about that, Kid. Hope you can forgive me." Heyes did sound pretty regretful.

The Kid made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry about it, Heyes. You got enough to worry about, and so do I. Why don't you come over to Cavanaugh's place with me? It's pretty near lunch time – and you know what a good cook he is. One of Cavanaugh's good lunches'll be much better than jerky out of our packs!"

As they walked down the trail to Cavanaugh's place, the Kid wondered how school was going for Heyes. He never reported back on how he did on exams or papers or anything like that. The Kid wondered if Heyes was having a very hard time with his classes. It would sure make sense if he was – since he didn't exactly come from an academic background. It would help to explain why Heyes seemed to study every minute that he wasn't riding Clay – or enjoying himself with Valerie. Heyes' days were spent mostly up in his room with his books and papers. Later in that first week two crates of books arrived at the train station and Heyes hauled them back to Christy's in the wagon. He put them to good use. As the summer went on he was often back and forth to the post office and the telegraph office. Joshua Smith arranged with Professor Homer and Professor Hargrove to do jury-rigged correspondence courses in advanced geometry and American literature. More books arrived, and papers were posted off to New York. His partner worked, as Thaddeus Jones often observed, like a very devil.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

A few days after Heyes' arrival, Cat fixed a particularly nice dinner for the boys, but Heyes didn't show. Cat was concerned. She climbed the stairs to his room and knocked softly. He didn't answer. She opened the door, cautiously and looked in. There in the lamplight, was Heyes leaned over his little desk – fast asleep. Cat looked at him and smiled, but it was a worried smile.

"Heyes!" she called softly. He woke with a start and smiled apologetically at Cat. "You're late for dinner! Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

"I sure am!" said Heyes, "Feel like I could eat a bear! Been at the books all day and I think I forgot lunch."

"You did," said Cat. "Come on down now and get some dinner while it's hot."

Heyes stood up slowly and stretched. "Ugh!" he grunted in pain and moved cautiously. He was walking very slowly, as if every step hurt him.

"You know, Heyes," Cat said gently, "Kid told me about your shooting. And your riding. And here you are studying all day every day. You can't be brilliant at everything all to once, you know. It just ain't reasonable! If you're gonna be all wonderful at your school subjects, you got to let something else go. You don't have to be a cowboy and a scholar, too."

"Yeah, I do," answered Heyes in a growl, "long as those God-damned posters about us are up all over. I got to be ready to shoot and to ride just as good as ever, if somebody comes for me. And when I'm here, I got to be up to watching the Kid's back, and yours."

"Have it your way, Heyes, but come on down and have some food, will you? I worked hard on that roast and those beans and those biscuits! They'll be all spoiled if they have to wait for you!" Cat shook her head over the very sore Heyes as he limped down the stairs. In a week or two, she guessed the kinks would be out. But he was a very uncomfortable man right now – in more ways than one.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later in the summer, Heyes and the Kid went riding together often in the mountains around Louisville. One day as they were cresting a ridge and enjoying the spectacular view of the high peaks all around them, the Kid noticed something about Heyes.

Curry observed, "Heyes, you've had your nose buried in a book most of the summer. It must be hard on the eyes. You having trouble seeing? You're kind of squinting."

"'Course not, Kid," answered Heyes brusquely. "The sun was just in my eyes."

"No, it wasn't, Heyes," said the Kid. "The sun's behind you. And I've seen you squinting before."

"You're imagining things, Kid," said Heyes.

But later that day, back at Christy's Place, Heyes was trying to read the restaurant specials on the board at the far end of the big room and he was squinting again. The Kid caught him at it. "I'm not imagining things, am I?" he said.

Heyes rolled his eyes, but he had to admit. "No Thaddeus, you're right. Most of the time it doesn't make any difference, but when things are really far away, they're a little blurry. It's been that way for years, actually, but now it's a bit worse. I'm worried. If I have to sit in the back of a class, it's going to be hard to see the board. And if someone's trailing me, I could miss details. Damn!"

"There's a guy over in Boulder who might be useful to you, partner," said the Kid brightly, "Eye doctor and glasses maker. One of the mine owners told me about him. Says he's very good. Actually, I was thinking. You said you were gonna try maybe to do a bit of a disguise back in New York – what about glasses? Who'd look for H . . . you, in glasses?"

Heyes looked seriously annoyed, but he grumblingly admitted, "Well, it couldn't hurt to go over to the guy and get him to look at me, I guess."

Two weeks later, Heyes was outfitted with stylish gold wire rims. He didn't wear them around Christy's place, but he had them ready in a case for use back in New York. He hoped they might divert suspicion. He also hoped they would help him to see!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes' hair was getting much too long, even for his taste, so he asked the Kid. "Who cuts your hair around here? I don't want you to do it like you used to, you butcher!"

The Kid grinned. "Well thanks, partner, for all your confidence! Cat does it for me now. Does a nice, neat job I think. And doesn't take too long at it, either. Curly hair is harder to get right, you know. At least that's what Cat always says"

"She's right! I ought to know – remember how I used to do it for you?" laughed Heyes.

"And you called me a butcher!" teased the Kid. "What I did to your hair was revenge, partner, pure revenge!"

So Heyes went to Cat as she was starting dinner and asked her if she could help him out with his hair in the next few days. Cat looked critically at Heyes' long brown locks. "Sure, Heyes. Tomorrow after breakfast let's get you set up in the back room on a bar stool. That's how I do the Kid."

So the next morning Cat put an old sheet around Heyes and started trimming. His hair had gotten way beyond his collar in the back. Heyes instructed her, "Please make sure it's still long enough to cover the scar, and you know I like it long, but I don't want it as long as yours! Which it just about is! I could put it in a pony tail like a girl."

As she was finishing off, trimming Heyes' side burns, Cat asked, "You want me to leave the grey here?"

"The what!?" Heyes' world was shaken.

"You meant you hadn't noticed? I guess the long hair covered it up before. You've got a few grey hairs in your side burns – see here and here." She held up the mirror for the Heyes to see. He looked at his own reflection in horrified fascination. Cat tried to soothe Heyes' wounded dignity, but she just made it worse. "Looks kind of distinguished, I think – if anyone noticed at all. There's only a dozen or so hairs on each side, unless you let too much side burn grow out. The farther it goes down, the greyer it is. If you grew a beard, it would have a lot of grey in it, I bet. I could pull those few grey hairs out easy, but they do say if you pull out grey hairs that more grow back."

"Oh gee, I'm getting old," moaned Heyes, "and I haven't even finished my first degree!"

"First?" Cat caught him in a slip, "You're going for more than one college degree?"

"Whoops!" Heyes ducked in embarrassment. "Don't tell the Kid, please. We don't even know if this degree will work out – if I can even stay out of prison. But if I can finish the BA, yes; I'll need an MA to do what I want to do."

"And what might that be, since you're in the mood to talk," teased Cat.

"No dice!" Heyes shook his head firmly, scattering bits of freshly cut hair around the back room. "You and the Kid would just laugh at me. I'm not telling you until I know if I can really do it. The qualifications I'm getting will let me do a lot of things, like I told you before. But I got to admit, I've got something special in mind - kind of pay back to this country for having put up with me when I was such a . . . . detriment. Haven't even told my advisor yet. I want him to tell me before I tell him, and seems to me, he just might. A few grey hairs might even help. We'll see."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

As the summer drew towards its close, Heyes was paying close attention to his New York correspondence for very different reasons than the demands of his "correspondence" classes. He and Dr. Leutze, in particular, were consulting about the risks that might be awaiting Heyes. It was terribly difficult to say whether Officer Tryon was still staking out the farm on Long Island and whether his friends in Manhattan and other boroughs were still paying him any mind. Any direct investigation of the matter would tip off the law that someone cared. But Leutze could, at least, keep a sharp eye on some of the enormous array of newspaper available in New York. He saw no articles mentioning the sighting of or hunt for Hannibal Heyes.

"So, you gonna go back to school in New York, Heyes?" Asked the Kid at last. "Couldn't you study here? There's that new university over in Boulder."

"No, Kid. Frankly, they don't have anyone on my level in math, from what I hear, much less good enough to teach me anything. No one west of Chicago can match what I can get in New York. And Columbia's where I have my scholarship. If I tried to go someplace else, I'd have to pay full price, which I can't do unless I get a whole lot of extra cash. I wouldn't want to ask our friends for any more – it'll take me years to pay them back as it is. And any new university would look into my background all over again – not a real cheerful thought."

"So, even knowing that guy on Long Island is probably still there, you're going back?" The Kid was worried, and not only about Heyes.

Heyes' eyes were full of concern. "Yeah, I guess I kind of have to. They're expecting me at Columbia. How can I explain if I don't show up? And everything will probably be fine. Except . . . you know. . ."

The Kid asked, "No, what?"

"You mean who . . ."

"Oh." The Kid was startled. Heyes hadn't mentioned Beth at all since he had arrived, even indirectly like this. He hadn't even acknowledged the problem until now. "You've gotten through woman problems before, Heyes."

"Not like this. But I'll manage. If only I don't have to go back to the clinic."


	4. Chapter 4

Heyes arrived back in New York at the hot, humid end of August. He moved his few belongings into a new rented room on his own. He was still awaiting his shipment of books, which would cost him a pretty penny. His new rented room was small, but it was clean. And it had a window facing west. Heyes had moved closer to Columbia and farther from the clinic. Joshua Smith didn't tell anyone where his room was – not even Jim or Dr. Leutze or any of his Columbia friends. If he did get taken down, Heyes hoped that this minor bit of secrecy would make it harder to implicate his friends – no one could see them visiting him at home. And if his friends were questioned, they honestly couldn't tell the police where Hannibal Heyes lived. He did have to list his address in university records, so the layer of secrecy wasn't really very thick. But he would take all the security he could get for his few supporters.

Just before classes started, Joshua Smith went over to Columbia University, as he had been summoned for a beginning of semester meeting. He would also meet with his advisor for the first time since the spring. He felt a bit timid as he climbed the stone steps and strolled into the echoing halls, wearing his new wire-rimmed glasses and a new dark grey suit he had had tailored for him in the latest fashion. Heyes wondered if anyone would notice the few grey hairs at his temples, but far more, he wondered if anyone would be watching to turn him in. He couldn't really know if word from Officer Tryon had made its way from Long Island to Manhattan, and more importantly, from an eccentric individual on the police force to the general knowledge of the community around Heyes. It would take only one leak to bring down the whole house of cards that was his life, and to take everyone he loved with it. So he stepped carefully, and looked around tensely, not yet knowing if a leak has sprung during the long, hot summer.

As Heyes walked down the hall near his advisor's office, he heard the voices of a crowd of people. Then he rounded a corner of the hall and saw a bunch of math majors gathered, gossiping, in the hall outside the Dean of Department's office. Smith heard Homer's voice call out, "See, the conquering hero comes!" Everyone turned suddenly to face Smith. The tall graying Professor Homer smiled at his new student and laughed.

Heyes looked up in cynical surprise, sure he was being made fun of. But Homer reached out a hand in congratulations, "Another pair of A plus pluses to add to that glittering record, Smith!" he exclaimed and handed Joshua Smith the report of his two summer classes and the previous semester's list of A grades. Doctor Copley, the round, balding, Dean of the Department, was also there to shake Joshua Smith's hand. A little crowd of math majors, including both Joshua Smith's friends Paul Huxtable, Neal George, and Everett Carter; as well as some of his worst enemies, had gathered to see the new list of class rankings for the Department of Mathematics. Homer and Copley were handing out report cards to a number of students who hadn't gotten the results of their summer studies yet; Smith was only one of them. Huxtable got a particularly warm round of congratulatory handshakes.

Then Homer called for order, and at last had to give a piercing whistle to quiet the crowd. Then Homer and Copley ceremoniously posted the sheet of class rankings for the Department of Mathematics on a bulletin board in the hall, bursting into laughter as Carter comically imitated a trumpet. All the students strained to see the names on the list. A cheer went up from Joshua Smith's friends – his name was printed atop the list for everyone to see. "The King is Dead, Long Live the King!" shouted the young red-headed Missouri Kid, Paul Huxtable, who had in fact been the former leader of that list. Hands reached out from every direction to grasp Joshua Smith's hand in congratulations, the unseated Huxtable's first among them."

Everyone laughed and Heyes couldn't help grinning. He had been called a king before – even in print - the King of Thieves some bright newspaper man had christened him. Hannibal Heyes had known major notoriety coast to coast and even in Europe, he had heard. At first he had enjoyed it – later he had come to hate and fear it. He had long dreaded having anyone learn his true name, since it put everyone and everything he valued at risk. Now Joshua Smith, standing alone at the head of his class, delighted in his new very minor and intensely local celebrity. He was known only within the world of Columbia University's Department of Mathematics. It was a tiny world, but a world he valued – and one where he found that he was valued.

"How much did I beat you out by, Missouri?" Asked Smith, as the group drifted noisily towards the classroom where they would be meeting, "A tenth of a point?"

"A twentieth!" chuckled the good-humored young Huxtable. "I'll get you next time, Kansas!"

"We'll see about that, boy!" Smith joked back. "It takes a man to lead this department!"

After a brief beginning of the school year meeting filled with dull announcements and restless students, Joshua Smith went to meet with Professor Homer in his advisor's little office. A chromolithograph after a Thomas Moran painting of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone was framed on the wall, since Homer was from Wyoming. Otherwise the office was mostly filled with piles of books and papers newly moved back for the autumn. Smith had to lift a pile of papers off a chair so he could sit down.

They talked a bit about Smith's class schedule for the fall, which they had pretty well settled by letter during the summer. But Homer didn't want to stay all business the way Smith had always done with him in the past. This was his new star student and he wanted to know what made him tick.

"So, how were things back in Colorado, Smith? You ever put your fool head out of that hotel room to see the mountains?" Homer asked his prize student.

"Yes, sir. I tried to go riding every day. Sure was sore at first!" Heyes answered, a bit self-consciously.

"You don't have to keep calling me sir, Smith! For Pete's sake, we're two westerners – first names are fine for me if they are for you – in private, anyhow." Homer had always been a bit puzzled by the formality and distance that Smith had insisted on keeping between them, when it was clear that they had a terrific amount in common.

"Fine for me, S . . . do you prefer . . . Charlie?" Heyes felt awkward. He was nervous of revealing too many personal things to a man from Wyoming who must know the criminal record of Hannibal Heyes in detail. He and the Kid were easily the biggest celebrities the territory had ever produced.

"Yes. You like Joshua better than Josh?" Homer was feeling his way, too, trying to get this brilliant but mysterious mathematics student to relax with him and open up some.

"I do, but honestly, it doesn't matter to me. I'm just tickled to be here studying, after all these years." Heyes decided that he had better let out at least a little bit of how he felt and why. He could share some parts of his background that shouldn't be too easy to connect to Hannibal Heyes. He could see that his former reserve was making this very perceptive man, who clearly cared a lot about him, a bit suspicious in itself.

"I can see that you're happy to be studying - judging from your results!" Homer shook his head in wonder. "I've seen a few belated students from unorthodox backgrounds who've been impressive – always know what they really want much more than the youngsters. But, frankly, I've never seen anyone achieve results like yours straight away. Even with the aphasia problems – you're still at the top of the class. You do know that, right? I mean not just in this department – in the whole sophomore class. You won't see the results listed officially, since you started in the spring instead of the fall, so you can't really compete fairly with people who've had so much more class time than you have. But your grade percentage tops the whole list. It's not everyone I'd say that to – not everyone can handle that kind of news. But you're a man – you won't let it put you off." Homer sounded confident of this.

"No, S . . . I mean Charlie." Smith grinned. He could hardly believe it. After all the suffering that had gone into those grades – especially at the end of the semester when he had been going through that long, agonizing break-up with Beth. He was the best already! "I know freshman work is easy compared to what comes later – I've got friends a year ahead warning me. I won't slack off!" And he meant it. His education could be curtailed at any moment – he would take advantage of every opportunity he had, while he had it. He looked forward to writing to Silky and Big Jim and Soapy with the good news.

"What I don't understand is, how did you study math when you were out on the range? I've never been able to get you to sit there and explain it." Homer stared fixedly at Smith – determined not to let him wriggle off the hook this time. There was a good story here – maybe one he could use to motivate other students.

Heyes swallowed and took a breath. He wasn't at all sure how much he could safely reveal, without endangering himself, and possibly even his former teacher-former friend, Robertson. They had parted under circumstance that had made Robertson understandably furious with Heyes, but Heyes had no reason to wish ill toward Robertson. "I, um, I'd rather not tell you too much about it, if you don't mind. The guy who rode with us was a former teacher – he, uh, he had to leave off teaching. Because he, well, he was wanted by the law. He wasn't guilty – at least he said he wasn't – but no one believed him and he had to make his living how he could. He gave me an algebra book and told me all he could about it. Came in damn handy, too!" Heyes stopped suddenly. Now he was going to have to explain that last line without talking about blowing safes and robbing trains.

"Excuse me, math was handy for a cowboy? I've done some cowpunching in my time, and I never used math once. And I would've if I could've, as you can appreciate." Homer was openly skeptical.

"Well, I did some mining, too. Need math to figure how much . . . dynamite or nitro to use, blowing out gold veins. Vein I was on wasn't much, so didn't go on too long. But math was a whole lot better than by guess and by golly like most of the guys did. A lot safer. And I did some bookkeeping, too, in a saloon. Got sold out and had to leave, but came in handy for a while." Heyes hoped this would work – it was a carefully chosen fraction of the truth.

"Bookkeeping, alright. But figuring dynamite charges? That's awfully complex math for someone with that little training. So you've always had the instinct for it. I guess what I really wonder was how you got interested in the first place. Surely this guy didn't run around teaching algebra to all the cow hands?" Homer laughed softly at the mental picture.

Heyes smiled. It did sound kind of silly. "Well, no. I guess I was always interested. We got to talking and one thing led to another – found out what he'd done for a living before. I just didn't get near enough good math . . . instruction in the few years I was in school – never had a good teacher in the one-room school house. Not good at math. I just kind taught myself, out of the book, when I could. Probably got a bunch of stuff wrong."

"Well, we're fixing it now, if you did."Homer was curious about a lot more things – like why Smith had had so little time in school, for one. But he got the distinct feeling that he had exhausted his student's patience. He had questioned him more than enough. "Sorry to grill you – I can't advise you real well if I don't know your background. But you're here to ask me stuff, too. What can I tell you ?"

"How did you get interested in math, Charlie?" Heyes was curious in his turn. He certainly had a fine understanding of how hard it was for someone off the range to get into the academic world.

"My father did some surveying before he took up ranching. He'd taken some college classes in Chicago before he went on West. So he taught me when I was growing up on the ranch. You're right – not a lot of good math taught in those one-room school houses in my experience! But I think you've got some friends waiting for you outside that door – you need to go celebrate that new top ranking!"

Heyes could hear them – it did sound like a little crowd was gathering in the hall. He said good bye to his professor and went out to meet his friends. They went off to their favorite bar, joking and play wrestling, glad to be together again. Heyes felt luckier than he could say to have people who cared about him – both in Colorado and in New York.

He just wished that Beth was one of them. He couldn't manage to keep his mind off her, especially when he was on campus. He was so conscious that he would never have even started college without her help. Even more than Robertson, she had realized his gifts and helped him all she could. So as the boys headed down the street, Joshua Smith, the one with the most to celebrate, was the quietest and most thoughtful of the bunch.


	5. Chapter 5

The little group of math major friends repaired to their favorite bar to celebrate the beginning of semester. All too soon the semester's work would close in and it would be hard to find time for just plain talk. Heyes took off his new glasses and tucked them into their case – he still felt very self-conscious in them.

"So, Smith. New glasses," said Ev Carter brightly, "shows you got to give up something to get something." He sighed, "Me too." He brought out his own glasses – wire rims very similar to Heyes' new pair. "Too damn much time with pen and paper, I guess. Or just fate. My dad wears glasses, my older brother wears glasses, and now I do too. Bring me a beer, Harry! I got to drown my sorrows." The boys all laughed. Ev still had the prettiest girl friend on campus, so no one took his sorrows very seriously.

Heyes leaned on the bar, sorely tempted to ask for a whiskey. But then he thought about Christy's place and the orders the Kid had given the bar tender. He didn't have the Kid to watch out for him here – he had to do it himself. He sighed. "Beer for me, too, Sid. How are you?"

The bar tender, a skinny little guy who was a special favorite with Heyes and his friends, answered happily, "Can't complain. Got engaged while you were out West. Nice lady – and doesn't mind waiting up late for me. At least she says she doesn't – knows it comes with the territory. When you gonna get hitched, Smith?"

The shadow that came over Joshua's face at that question was unmistakable. He shook his head. "No time soon. Been working too hard on school to have much time for romance. How's things with you and Betsy, Ev?"

"Doin' fine, Smith. I just hope she doesn't get too sick of waiting for me to finish my degrees before I can get a faculty post and support her. I guess as long as she's in school herself, she won't object. But when she finishes the BA and I keep going for the MA, that could be a different thing. Waiting those extra two years won't be easy," Ev took a swig of beer.

Heyes thought a lot about his own version of the same problem. Asking the Kid and Cat, and Heyes' funders – to put up with his being in school for two degrees – it was asking a lot. He sipped his beer meditatively. He hadn't told anyone except Cat about it yet.

"You have a girl out West, Smith?" asked Huxtable with a grin.

"You bet!" answered Joshua with a wolfish grin. "Most beautiful woman I ever set eyes on. And oh, does she know what she's doing after dark . . . "

Neal George looked surprised. "You thinking of getting hitched?"

Heyes grinned in embarrassment and shook his head. "Wrong kind of girl, NG."

Huxtable laughed, "Oh! That kind."

Heyes tried to keep a light smile on his face, as he thought about the other kind of girl, "Yeah, that kind."

While Eve and Huxtable laughed together, Neal George looked at his friend Joshua. George always did have a sharp eye for Joshua Smith's moods. Being the closest of the friends to Smith's age, he and the westerner had the most in common despite his being from Philadelphia. He said softly, "You were so distracted end of last semester – thought maybe you were having woman trouble." Smith's face came over very dark and he nodded.

Smith looked away from George, who stood alone on his right, and toward Ev and Huxtable on his left. "We're here to have fun, so let's have it. What happened with the baseball team you were playing on Missouri? Shortstop, right?"

That started a lively conversation on baseball that covered for a more private exchange with George, who mouthed to Smith, "Beth?" Heyes, making sure that no one else had seen the silent question, gave a very small nod. He knew NG wouldn't give him away. "Told her too much," he whispered. "She's all for the truth – less it's too hard." NG knew better than to ask for details there and then, although he wondered for sure. He had always thought that Beth Warren was very good at dealing with hard truths. He couldn't imagine what Smith could have told her that she couldn't deal with. By the time the beginning of semester gathering wound down, he hadn't learned any more about that.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Heyes got into writing his first paper of the semester, he could tell that his aphasia was getting a bit better. Thinking of and writing down words was a little faster and easier. Perhaps Beth would be right that the first semester was the hardest. Heyes sure could use for it to get easier, not only scholastically, but emotionally. He couldn't take another semester like the last one.

He was taking another class with Professor Hargrove, who had taught his freshman composition class and the more advanced composition class he had taken over the summer. He had learned a lot from that wise and learned lady and they had gotten to be something close to friends. She refused to cut him any slack, but offered all the encouragement and help he could ask, even when his aphasia had caused the worst problems. Now, as Heyes approached verbal subjects, he had a new level of confidence.

But even now he would get hung up on a few words as he wrote. He would stop and pace up and down – no longer having Jim there to be annoyed about it was actually kind of lonesome. Heyes wished he could visit Dr. Leutze at the clinic for a bit of help now, but he simply could not bring himself to face the possibility of seeing Beth and having her reject him again. Even if he could avoid her, he wouldn't be able to get in to the clinic at all without facing the cheerful receptionist, Polly. Polly was Beth's closest friend. If Beth had told, or even hinted, anything about Heyes' behavior and identity to anyone on earth, it would have been to Polly. It made Heyes more than nervous to think of meeting Polly without knowing what she knew about him. She might yell at him. Or maybe she wouldn't let him in at all. Or maybe she'd ignore him. Heyes could take being yelled at a lot easier than being ignored.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

On the first day of fall classes as he was coming out of his American literature class with Professor Hargrove, Smith fell into step beside that tall lady with her pile of black hair that made her even a bit taller than Smith himself.

"You should be very proud of what you were able to do over the summer, Smith," said the Professor with a smile, "Many people can't work well by themselves. You did wonderfully."

"I know," grinned Joshua, "You gave me an A plus!"

"There are things beyond grades, you know. I mean, I know that you understand that – it infuses all your work." answered Professor Hargrove seriously.

"Thank you, Professor," said Smith, "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something beyond grades, or school, if you have time."

"Sure. If you can walk with me toward my office."

Smith was a bit shy about what he wanted to ask, "I . . . well . . . out West I had a hard time getting back to riding . . . after months out of the saddle. It hurt like hell the first few days!" Smith knew this professor did not object to the occasional salty word – she could let fly herself in private.

Professor Hargrove laughed. "Of course it hurt! Did that surprise you?"

"Well, yeah. I've ridden all my life before this – never spent so much as a week out of the saddle. And I don't want to have that happen again. You ride, don't you?" Joshua had seen her once riding in Central Park. She had a superb seat in that difficult contraption called a side saddle. Heyes had always wondered how any woman could manage it.

"Yes, I do, Smith. I try to get out every week with Emma." Just saying the name brought a smile to Professor Hargrove's face.

"Do you know someone who could teach me English riding? Seems like the thing to do here. I guess it'd keep me in shape for Western riding just as well."

"Actually, Eastern riding is a lot more demanding. So you aren't going to ask me to teach you to ride? I guess you think it would be improper – to go riding with a woman? Wouldn't want anything untoward to happen?" Professor Hargrove's eyes were sparkling with wit.

"No, I just wouldn't want Emma to get jealous." Smith grinned back. He knew very well that Professor Hargrove was in a relationship with a customs clerk named Emma Hazelton, and his professor knew that he knew it. She was about as open a lesbian as a woman could be in those days. Diana Hargrove knew that it didn't bother this student a bit. Although she didn't know the true details of exactly how unusual he really was, she understood that with his aphasia and his lack of previous schooling, Joshua Smith came from a background that was very unusual for a college student. Diana Hargrove knew what it was like to suffer from being different. She supported her equally different student all she could.

"I do know someone who could help you out, if you don't mind his attitude. Arthur Wainwright the third may be an officious ass, but he does know his way around an English saddle. He's a superb rider. And he has the money to be able to afford to rent a horse at least once a week in Central Park. If I put the right words into his ear about what a great student you are and how promising, I'll just bet that I can get him interested in helping you out. I'd play down the rough-edged western thing with him. Wear your best suit to school on Wednesday and watch your grammar even more than usual.

I'll set things up. Don't blame me if you want to punch his lights out after he's been teaching you for an hour! But have patience – if you're a good western rider, you won't find eastern that much harder. And once Wainwright gets used to you and sees how good you are, he'll let up some, I'll bet."

"Thanks, Professor!" said Heyes. He wondered how much of an officious ass he could take, but he couldn't very well back out now.

Sure enough, the blue-blooded Arthur Wainwright and Joshua Smith were riding side by side in Central Park the following Saturday morning early. The eastern aristocrat had even lent Smith some of his boots for the occasion, since they wore the same size.

Smith was saying, "Yes, Wainwright. I've been in the saddle a lot out West. But like I told you on Wednesday, I've never ridden eastern. When in Rome and all that – thought I'd better give it a try. Can you give me some pointers?"

Wainwright smiled condescendingly. Heyes already felt tempted to haul off and deck him, but he controlled himself. "Of course, Smith. I'm sure you'll be able to master it in time." Heyes kind of wondered about that. He felt very, very strange in the little eastern saddle with short stirrups and no horn at all.

The neatly groomed, black haired Wainwright wasn't shy about teaching Smith the ropes. "Head up, heels down. Keep the stirrups on the balls of your feet – not all the way through like that. You balance on your heels – nearly all of your weight should be there. Keep your knees bent and your feet balanced under you – not way out front that way. You're in a saddle, not a rocking chair! Heels down, Smith! And reins in both hands, not just the left. Here, let me show you the grip. Keep your hands soft, but you need to keep more contact on the bit. This horse'll be gone over the hill with you if you leave the reins loose like that. And don't be so shy with the reins stopping him – this is a snaffle bit, not one of those brutal curbs you use out west. And no, we don't neck-rein here!" Heyes decided that he didn't want to punch the guy - he'd prefer to brain him with one of his own boots.

Heyes worked at the unfamiliar form for some time at the walk, and then had to learn about that strange Eastern thing called posting to the trot. He sat the trot so well that it seemed a total waste of effort. He finally had to gripe some, "How on earth do you stay in the saddle perched like this? I've spent eight – ten hours at a time in a western saddle - had no problem. This kind of riding, man, it would tire you out in an hour or two!"

Wainwright looked superior and sounded it. "Naturally hunt seat is more difficult, but we have some contact with the horse – not like in one of those monstrous western saddles. And you have much more control. Did you ever try jumping in a western saddle?"

"No – well, not . . . intentionally." Heyes thought of times when his horse had wound up having to leap a fence or a creek unexpectedly when he and the Kid had a posse on their tails – not exactly stories he could tell Wainwright!

When they went out again the next week, Heyes started to learn what good, balanced form felt like. He began to appreciate the close control of the horse eastern riding afforded. Especially in the relatively tight spaces of Central Park, the balance and control came in very handy. It seemed like there were endless things to startle a horse, from girls with billowing skirts on bicycles, to kids popping rubber balloons. But eastern or western, a good gallop was still a blast.

As they rode back toward the stable after just such a brisk gallop, Wainwright asked his riding companion, "Smith, you ever handle a gun?"

"Sure. Out West, a man can hardly avoid it." Heyes was carefully guarded in his answer. He surely didn't want to get anyone wondering about his previous experiences with guns, such as in armed robbery! But he would be glad if he could find a place to keep his shooting skills honed – that could mean life or death.

Clearly, Wainwright enjoyed feeling superior to that rough Westerner Joshua Smith and thought he would enjoy teaching him to use a weapon in the eastern fashion. The next weekend, Wainwright took Joshua Smith to an exclusive gun club out in the New Jersey countryside. Heyes didn't bring his Colt – there would be guns there for the men to use.

There was an intimidating iron gate out front of the fields of the club. As they trotted past in a rented surrey, Heyes looked appraisingly at the gate and the lock; he thought he could probably get past that lock in a few minutes, if he was left to work. It would certainly be easier than climbing the smooth stone wall with iron spikes on top!

When Smith and Wainwright got to the main building, they went to pick out their guns. There was a locker with a wide array of pistols. A dignified sixtyish man named Bunter was in charge. He had a slight British accent and a haughty manner. Wainwright said that Bunter had been in the British army before he had come to America. Bunter handed Wainwright his accustomed 38 caliber pistol. Wainwright donned the matching holster and took a box of bullets. Then Bunter turned to Joshua Smith.

"Have you any experience with guns, sir?" he inquired haughtily.

"Yes, some. I'm out of practice, though," lied Heyes.

"Which weapon would you prefer to try, sir?" asked Bunter, pointing to an impressive array of pistols.

Heyes couldn't help himself – he had to go for the weapon on which he could show a mastery that would put the snooty Wainwright in his place - he hoped. "The Colt 45 single action, please."

"Sir! That is a powerful weapon with a considerable kick. Might I suggest a 32 instead?"

"No, Bunter. The Colt, if you please." Heyes carefully stayed straight faced and kept his voice calm and firm. The thought that anyone would doubt that he could handle a Colt was enough to make his blood boil, but he couldn't let that show.

"Well, if you are sure, sir. But I implore you to be careful. I will accompany you to give you some instruction as you begin target shooting." Bunter was solicitous and superior.

"Suit yourself, Bunter," said Heyes casually.

Bunter handed Smith the heavy Colt with a neat, new holster and belt. Heyes buckled up the gun belt and holstered the Colt, conscious of the critical eyes of Bunter and Wainwright upon him. He settled the stiff new leather belt at the right height and angle and tied the leg strap with a swift gesture that had been automatic to him for decades.

They walked to a field with targets set up and stood at a lime marked distance line. Wainwright stood in careful balance, bracing the pistol in front of him to resist the kick. Slowly, with a few seconds between each shot to aim and brace his arm, he loosed six shots into a loose grouping in and close around the central circle of the target. The man smiled and Bunter exclaimed, "Very pretty shooting, sir! Now, Mr. Smith, let me give you some instruction before you begin. If you will be certain to hold your pistol . . .

Before Bunter could finish his sentence, Heyes had drawn, not at a speed to challenge the Kid, but fast enough. Within seconds, he had fired all six shots into the bull's eye, all but the last of them squarely in the center. He reholstered the smoking Colt with a flourish.

Wainwright and Bunter were opened mouthed with amazement. It was a sweet moment.

"Told you I was out of practice – I see that last shot was about a quarter inch right. Got to work on that." Heyes was enjoying himself. If this showing off was dangerous, at this moment he frankly didn't care.

"Sir, I apologize! I did not realize that you an expert level marksman!" said a stunned Bunter, while Wainwright was still speechless.

"Nothing special, out West," said Heyes, which was stretching the truth. While it was true that good shooting was often met with west of the Mississippi, really fine shooting was not precisely common anywhere. Although Heyes had always kept the fact under wraps to provide himself and the Kid with a surprise attack, he was a good marksman. And his draw, when he was in practice, was swift enough to beat most men who weren't actually professional gunslingers, and some who were. As the Kid had discovered, Heyes was keeping his shooting in better shape now than he often had in the Devil's Hole days.

Despite the threat that had warned him away from Long Island, Heyes had figured out how to maintain the skills that he was well aware could still be necessary for him to stay alive. He never doubted that there would come a day, or maybe more than one, when he would need to ride for his life and to shoot his way out of a tight spot.


	6. Chapter 6

After a long of week of increasingly difficult school work, now taking more than the usual load of classes, Heyes felt rather virtuous putting up with Wainwright again to go riding for a third time. The stiff eastern man wasn't so difficult a companion as he had been. Heyes was interested to learn more that lay behind that often forbidding exterior. And Heyes enjoyed observing Wainwright as a character almost like a bird watcher watching an exotic bird. Wainwright was of a type Heyes had tried to portray (very badly Heyes now realized) in a con game years before. The man spoke immaculate English, which was good for Heyes as he tried to become really at home speaking correct grammar all the time. And Wainwright could discuss politics and world events very intelligently, which Heyes did enjoy. In fact, Heyes started to realize that he had come into this "friendship" with a chip on his shoulder. Both men, actually, were learning from each other.

As they walked their horses down a shady path in Central Park after a nice gallop, they passed a tall young policeman who was patrolling the park. Another policeman came up to the man just as Heyes and Wainwright rode by, and asked the tall officer jokingly, "Seen any famous western outlaws lately, Tryon?"

Heyes, in panicked shock, could not help letting his eyes turn toward Officer Tryon, the eccentric policeman who had spotted him when he had been riding on Long Island. Their eyes met.

The policeman smiled harmlessly at the man on horseback, and then turned to his fellow officer to make a reply that Heyes couldn't hear – at least partially because the blood was pounding in his ears. Heyes recognized the man who had watched him ride on Long Island, but without his western hat and boots, Tryon seemed not to recognize Heyes at all. The glasses, riding britches, and tweed jacket seemed to utterly fool Tryon. Yet Heyes had caught only a brief glimpse of Tryon as they rode by. He had feared this man for months as a major threat. Anything could be happening with the policemen Heyes and Wainwright had just passed. But Heyes didn't dare turn his head to look back – the risk of attracting the wrong kind of attention was much too great. If he pointed himself out, Tryon might look at him again and see something more.

"I said, Smith, are you ready for a trot? Didn't you hear me?" asked Wainwright and Heyes realized that he had been so worried and distracted that he had not heard the man at all the first time he spoke, and he was riding only a couple of yards ahead of his western friend.

"Sorry, Wainwright," said Joshua, "I was working out a theorem."

"On horseback? Without pencil and paper? You need to learn to relax, Smith!" Wainwright turned back to look at Smith and laughed. Smith laughed, too. Now that the Tryon threat was off his back – or at least he hoped so – unless the man was a consummate actor – maybe he could really relax. In between work on school! But Heyes was still glad to put some distance between himself and Officer Tryon with a good trot.

When they finished their trot and relaxed into a long strided walk again, Wainwright dropped back to ride alongside his western friend. He said tentatively, "Out West, you must have met some colorful types."

"Yeah," agreed Heyes, "plenty of 'em. There was this old gold miner . . ."

But Wainwright was not interested in random gold miners, he had something more specific in mind, "Did you ever meet any . . . outlaws?"

"Why does everyone always ask about outlaws! You easterners are obsessed with 'em! No, there are not outlaws hiding behind every tree west of the Mississippi!" Heyes sounded annoyed and he was. He was also a little worried. If Wainwright was another western fiction fan, he might know enough to be dangerous. Probably not, but Heyes was starting to get a little paranoid on the subject.

"You live in Colorado, don't you? When you aren't in New York? Didn't I hear Professor Homer talking to you about a little town in eastern Colorado?"

"Yeah, Wainwright, I live in Colorado. Little place near Boulder called Louisville. What about it?" Heyes couldn't figure out any rational reason, but he had a very bad feeling about this. He wasn't afraid to mention Louisville. Many people at Columbia knew where Joshua Smith lived so if Wainwright was curious, he would have found it out easily. So why was the hair on the back of Heyes' neck rising?

"You never happened to run into . . . Hannibal Heyes, did you?"

Heyes had to work supremely hard to keep his mouth closed and his eyes calm. For a moment he was so thrown by this direct question that he simply didn't say anything at all. Yet, he was almost sure that Wainwright didn't suspect who he really was. His voice sounded way too casual and not accusatory at all.

"Why?" Heyes finally managed to say without his voice shaking.

Wainwright slowed his horse, which had been trying to move ahead of Heyes' horse. "Because I heard, from a friend, that the last place Heyes and Kid Curry were seen was in a little eastern Colorado town. And since you're living in a little eastern Colorado town, I thought I'd ask. I've always been kind of curious about him. They say he's the most intelligent man west of the Mississippi. I mean, if he's smarter than you, that's really saying something."

"Thank you, Wainwright, I appreciate that. You're pretty impressive yourself. What makes you think I'm so darned smart, anyhow?" Heyes hoped he could redirect his eastern friend's questions away from Heyes and over to Smith. Using himself as a distraction from himself was weird, but it was all he could think of on the fly.

"If leading the whole math department in grade percentage doesn't prove that, I don't know what would. And Professor Hargrove says you are very impressive in English, too. But you didn't answer me – have you ever met Hannibal Heyes?"

Heyes' much vaunted mind raced. Wainwright knew so much already that it was impossible for Joshua Smith to convincingly deny any proximity with Hannibal Heyes at all. He tried to figure out a way to avoid lying too badly even while not giving away or suggesting too much. It wouldn't be easy, and no matter what he said, it would be risky. The apt quote from a poem by Sir Walter Scott came to mind, "Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." Heyes had been practicing deception, often against his will, for many a long year. But he still knew how tangled the web could get – the truth, or a carefully chosen share of it, was almost always safer in the end.

So Heyes cautiously asserted about himself, "Not been introduced to the man, no."

"Oh, but you've seen him?"

Heyes was thinking, "Only in the mirror every morning!" but what he said was, "Yes. At least I think so."

"What do you mean you think so? Wouldn't you know?"

"Not many people know what he looks like – there aren't any photographs on those wanted posters. And he and the Kid keep their names to themselves. But mostly, well, I don't remember it. What they tell me is that a bunch of us took off out of little town in Colorado when the Kid and Heyes were flushed out of there. They lost the posse after a few hours. Posse gave up and started riding home. One of the guys let loose a shot accidentally and it hit off a rock. Then it hit me. In the head. I woke up three days later. With no memory of the thing at all. So I can't tell you anything else about it." Heyes emphasized those last words in hopes of discouraging further questions, but he knew it would take more than that to stop Wainwright.

"Is that when you got aphasia?"

"How did you find out about that?" Heyes couldn't help having a hostile reaction to that question. He still found it frankly embarrassing.

"How would I not? The whole school knows."

"Oh." Heyes hadn't realized that his medical problems were so widely known. It didn't make him any too happy.

"Yes, the bullet in the head gave me aphasia." He pulled back the long brown hair over his left temple to show Wainwright the ugly scar. The younger man's eyes widened.

"So you have reason not to like Hannibal Heyes." Wainwright seemed to think this was too bad. Heyes got the feeling that he might have a real fan here.

"So I have reason not to like the guy who fired the shot! Only I don't have a clue who it was. I don't remember it! It's a God damned blank Wainwright! Days before it and days after it – a God damn it all to hell blank!" Heyes allowed his real anger to show, and even played it up. It might be the only way to warn Wainwright off of this whole dangerous area.

"I'm sorry, Smith. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Wainwright sounded embarrassed in his turn to realize how rude his curiosity had led him to be.

"And I don't mean to be prickly. But it was a real hard time – took months before I could say a word. I'd rather go forward and not look back. You understand?" He hoped this appeal would work. Heyes felt very nervous about this whole conversation, and not only what it implied about what Wainwright knew. He really worried about how much people all over campus knew about him.

"Yes, I guess I can see that. I just . . . it's too bad you don't remember Heyes. I've always been darned curious about him. Oh well. Sorry to bother you about it." Wainwright sounded genuinely regretful.

"That's alright, Wainwright. Let's gallop." suggested Heyes – so they did. It would give Heyes good cover for breathing a little hard. His heart was still beating fast after two such narrow escapes in the space of an hour. Heyes would have to put up with Wainwright's inquires in the future for sure, since they had two classes together. If not questions about Heyes himself, he supposed there would be questions about other aspects of Western life. And it would be very obvious and ungraceful for Joshua Smith to suddenly drop a new friend. Heyes hoped that he had discouraged the easterner from this line of questions, but he doubted it. Curiosity could kill more than one cat!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooo

Joshua Smith and Neal George were sitting side and side on bar stools on another Friday night. Huxtable was in his dorm room studying for an approaching test and Ev Carter was out with Betsy, so it was just Smith and George this Friday.

"What the big deal with that creep Wainwright this semester, Smith?" Neal George's nose was out of joint.

Heyes sighed. He had known this was going to come up soon and he felt guilty about it. "He's useful, NG. He's got the money and connections on riding and shooting. I just don't have time for the trip out to Long Island to practice, and I don't dare get out of practice. It is too damn dangerous out west."

"Is it really that dangerous? I thought that was just in those silly books your friend Jim reads." George suspected he was being played for an innocent.

"You're asking me that?"

"What do you mean?" Neal honestly didn't get the reference.

Heyes pulled back the hair from the scar on his head. Neal blushed scarlet. "Sorry Smith! You talk so well now, you know I just forgot."

"Well, I can't forget it. Ever. And if you think that was the only time . . ." Immediately, Heyes was sorry he'd given away that much of the truth. It just tore him up to have to continually lie to almost all of his friends. But having told the truth to Beth and lost her, he was sensitive about telling too much.

"Just how many times have you been shot?" George was appalled.

"More than once." Heyes tried to shut down this line of questioning by taking a firm line, but he knew even as he said it that it wouldn't work.

NG leaped instantly to the wrong, needlessly embarrassing, conclusion that led him to hesitantly ask, "What, did you get hit . . . in a . . . bad place?"

"No, NG! Aw hell, I ain't gonna show you the scars. Leg, shoulder, and once not too bad in the head – before the other one. If you look hard you can just see the scar." Heyes bent over and George leaned close. In the bar's dim light, could just make out the faint white diagonal line on Heyes's left temple well in front of the much more serious later scar. Heyes felt pretty safe leaving off a few times he'd been hit – unless they went swimming NG need never know. "You had enough of shooting? I don't like to talk about it – bad memories – I wasn't the only one got hurt, you know. Or worse."

Now NG felt really bad. "Sorry, Smith. I didn't know. How're your other classes going? The ones I'm not in." School seemed like a much safer topic.

"Fine. Well, no, not totally fine. I'm having problems with aphasia and writing again, to tell you the truth. It's about to drive me up the wall. I've ground to a halt on that essay for . . . American lit. And that makes problems for other classes. I hope Dr. Leutze could help me, maybe. But I just don't dare go over to the clinic and maybe see Beth. Or even just her friend Polly who's the. .. receptionist. I'm sure she'd yell at me, even though it was Beth who left me." Smith sounded worried and upset.

NG looked concerned but took the edge off with a laugh. "And I thought you were a brave western hero getting shot left and right! Now your academic career is on the line and you're afraid of seeing two little women! You're a damn wimp, Smith, that's what you are."

Joshua blushed and studied his beer, but then he smiled. "You're right, NG. I'm a coward of the first water. It's stupid. I'll go over there Monday afternoon after class and hope Leutze can make a minute for me. He doesn't usually schedule Monday mornings too tight."

What he had said to Neal had made it sound simple. But after he made that promise, Heyes woke up in middle of the night panting and with his heart racing. He was having a real full-on panic attack. He hadn't felt that awful, unreasoning grip of fear since he had been a boy. And since even the phrase panic attack didn't exist yet, much less any scientific explanation for it, he didn't understand what was happening any more than he had when he was nine. And that in itself frightened him badly. He sat up in bed trying to catch his breath and argue himself into calming down. He wished had had the Kid in the bed next door like he used to, as a calming presence. He would say, "Go back to sleep, Heyes. We got to ride in the morning!"

Funny though, how when they were the in worst danger Heyes had usually slept like a log – except when he was planning something. He had been so used to danger then. He had thrived on it. He thought he still would manage just plain physical danger just fine, if he had to again. He knew how to enjoy it.

What was bothering him so badly now wasn't the threat of being turned in or killed, although those were still very possible. It was, he decided, the danger of realizing that Beth truly hated and despised him. Having her respect and support had been one of the most important forces in his recovery from aphasia. If Beth now truly did not care about him any longer, Heyes didn't know what he would do. Somehow, he was kept hoping that he and Beth could still be friends. At least friends. He could just feel her lips on his and . . . Heyes knew, rationally, that it wasn't likely. But he tried to hold out hope. And with that thought, he lay back down and started counting sheep. Or actually counting imaginary gold bars. That was so much more fun!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes took a deep breath and went up the familiar stairs at the Leutze clinic. As he reached the top and saw Polly behind the desk, he remembered how often she had greeted him gladly with a smile. No more of that.

She scowled at him. "What are you doing here, Mr. Smith?" Polly asked angrily.

"I . . . came to see Dr . . . . Leutze . . . if he has a minute. . ." Heyes choked out the words. He was shocked to suddenly face aphasia much worse than it had been in well over a year. He couldn't meet Polly's accusing eyes.

"You aren't a patient here any longer, Mr. Smith [did Heyes hear a faint pause there – did she know his real name? He wasn't at all sure]. If you want an appointment, write a letter." Polly said bitterly, and turned away to work on some papers on her desk.

But just then, Dr. Leutze saw Heyes and called down that hall to summon his old patient and friend into to his office. "Come on Smith, I have a few minutes before my first patient."

But before Heyes could get to the door, Dr. Bartholomew arrived and said to Dr. Leutze, "I need to speak with you, Doctor. Do you have a moment?"

"Can it wait a moment, Smith? I'll be back, but clinic business has to come first." Leutze said it lightly, but he could see that Joshua Smith was troubled.

"Sure . . . doctor . . . I'll . . . wait." Heyes was ashamed to have the doctor hear his speech in such bad condition. It had been fine until he had arrived at the clinic – it was only the writing that had been a problem until just now. Dr. Leutze looked at him in grave concern.

Heyes stood awkwardly in the hall, afraid to meet almost anyone who might be there who wasn't a stranger.

Beth Warren looked out of her office and saw him, obviously standing there at loose ends while Drs. Leutze and Bartholomew walked down the hall together speaking together in low voices.

Beth called to Heyes, "Come in, please. If you don't mind. I want to talk."

"Sure," said Heyes, profoundly surprised. "I came to see . . . Dr . . . . Leutze . . . didn't mean to . . . bother . . . you," he struggled to get out even two or three words together. Heyes felt like he was falling apart and Beth was watching, her face full of grief and concern.

"Come in!" Beth said anxiously. Heyes went in and stood by Beth, but looking away from her. "I was going to ask how you are, but you sound awful. What's on earth is wrong?"

"You . . . ought to know . . . what's . . . wrong. I . . ." He looked down and away from Beth. He couldn't stand to see the hate or disgust he was sure must be on her face. Or worse, pity.

"Is your speech this bad all the time?" She was really worried.

"No. Just . . . here . . . now. . . I came about . . . writing."

Beth's voice was full of pain. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Heyes. I didn't mean to cause you such distress."

"What do you mean? You . . . already. . . But - thank you for not turning me in – or the Kid. We're grateful, and so is Cat, his girl." Heyes had to say that – it had been praying terribly on his mind.

"I promised you, Mr. Heyes, and I won't go back on my word." Beth was just as firm and principled as she had ever been.

"I know that. I trust you, or I wouldn't still be in New York. I'm very sorry that I got mad at you. It was wrong and I'm sorry. I was . . . I was. . scared. I was scared." it was a battle for him to get the words out – and this was more than aphasia.

"Why is it so hard for you admit you're frightened? It's a natural human emotion." This comment, so typically Beth began to thaw Heyes' crippling fear and his speech improved a bit.

"Where I'm from, the . . . people I used to be with, letting anyone know you're . . . scared could get you . . . killed. I saw it happen. More than once. Shot in cold blood."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Beth, truly shocked. This was a terrifying view into the world Heyes from which Heyes had emerged.

"I'm sorry. I . . . shouldn't have told you that." Heyes tried to get his speech back to normal.

"You should if it's the truth! I believe in the truth! More than anything!" This was the heart of Beth, Heyes knew. And he loved it. He had had to deal in lies so much in his life – Beth was his rock of truth. He needed her so desperately, but the very truth that made him love her kept them apart.

"But we can't always tell everyone all of the truth. It don't . . . it doesn't work. It causes problems – you ought to know." Finally Heyes couldn't help it. He looked down at Beth, standing so near him, such a little woman with tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt such a terrible temptation to tilt her damp face up to his and just kiss her until the tears went away.

Heyes fought to keep his voice steady, "I thought you didn't care about me any longer."

"Who ever said that!? I'll always care about you! And I respect what you're doing as a student, and leaving crime behind. I respect you a lot and I . . . I . . . I just can't be . . . romantically . . . with you . . . I just can't. Can you understand that?" Beth's voice was full of the conflicting emotions that were tearing her up. Heyes began to realize that she was as upset and wounded by this as he was.

"Yes. I understand that - too well. I'm danger incarnate." Now Heyes was glad he hadn't tried to kiss Beth. It would just have made things worse – make him look like a brute – frighten her again. He could just bet she was a virgin. She was such a good and honorable woman. She was frightened enough of him without feeling repugnance at unwanted sexual advances.

Before Beth could answer what he had said, and she was about to say something, Heyes heard Dr. Leutze in the hall, "Smith, where have you gotten to?"

Heyes felt terrible. He didn't want Dr. Leutze to see Beth with tears in her eyes. That would make Leutze so mad – and for good reason. Heyes had made her cry – again.

"Good-bye" said Heyes softly, turning away from Beth's distressed face. He walked out the door and closed it softly behind him. He was sure that he could hear Beth crying as he left. He hoped that he could see her again soon and try to finish sorting out the complex situation between them. He still kept a tiny spark of hope alive in his heart.

A half-hour later, as Heyes walked out of Dr. Leutze's office, he overheard a few words that gave him more hope yet even as it hurt him to hear them. He overheard Beth speaking very quietly to Polly just outside Beth's office: "He's going gray and I'm wast. . ." But as Joshua Smith reappeared, Beth vanished into her office.

Polly gave Hannibal Heyes a tiny smile as he left the clinic.


	7. Chapter 7

Heyes returned from the clinic and climbed the steps up to his little third floor room emotionally exhausted. Yet he felt better than he had thought possible. While Beth hadn't exactly wound up in his arms, she had confirmed that she still cared about him and respected him. She neither hated nor despised him as Heyes had so feared. This was a comfort past words for the reformed outlaw. Yet Beth was still afraid, that was clear enough. But was she afraid more of Heyes or of herself?

Even though he did not come from Beth's segment of society and he did not understand all of the rules she felt bound by, Heyes could understand at least some of the reasons why she was reluctant to get seriously involved with him. He represented violence and danger far past the bounds of any conceivable propriety. Beth had to consider not only her own safety and her standing in society, but also the security and needs of her students and her family.

For an upstanding professional lady like Beth, the only permissible outcome for a serious courtship was marriage. There were no two ways about that. And she knew well that Heyes couldn't possibly ask anyone to marry him until the amnesty came through, if it ever did. Mrs. Hannibal Heyes? It wasn't a very enviable name at the moment – any more than Mr. Hannibal Heyes was. Like the Kid, Heyes was trapped in a cycle of threat and uncertainty. Cat Christy, out on the frontier, came from a place and a society where it was on the far edge of possibility for an unmarried man and woman to live together. In the saloon, people accepted the relationship, but Miss Christy and Mr. Jones were not welcomed in church and the wives of wealthy mine owners and other social leaders in the community would not speak to them. For Beth Warren, making such a challenge to social rules was utterly impossible. Such behavior would lose her not only her job but any standing or security in society. And even a more formal and proper courtship would turn to disaster if word ever got out that the man in the relationship was a notorious outlaw.

No, Heyes did not blame Beth for trying to keep him at arm's length. This necessary distance hurt him horribly, but now he had good evidence that it hurt her as well. He had seen the tears in her eyes. He didn't want to cause this woman pain, but he could not figure out anything that he could do that would fail to hurt her. To stay or to go, to speak or to be silent, any choice would hurt them both.

Heyes was unsure what to do next. He still wanted to court Beth and he did not know if there was any socially possible way for him to do so. Surely, if it was at all possible, it would be a very different sort of courtship than he had ever experienced. He waited for some time for Beth to contact him, but he never heard a word. Surely Dr. Leutze would have given her his address? Three long, lonely, hard-working weeks after he had seen Beth at the Leutze clinic, Heyes finally could stand the silence no longer. He visited the clinic on a Monday. Polly welcomed him with quiet concern. She handed him a note and told him, "This is for you from Beth. If we had had your address, she could have sent the letter, but Dr. Leutze refused to give us your address. I am very curious about why, but of course that is your own business, Joshua. So Beth just left the note for you."

"Left?" asked Heyes. Then he opened the little missive and saw the explanation. Beth had written the note two days after his previous visit.

"Dear Joshua Smith -

My aunt Sadie McElroy has fallen ill and is expected to take many months in recovering, if she is able to recover. As you know, she and her sister raised my sister Barbara and me. We are very close. My aunt Bertha is too elderly and infirm herself to care for her sister without help, and my sister has her own family to care for. So I am going to Bethesda immediately to nurse my aunt. I am giving my students at the Leutze clinic over to other teachers until further notice. I will be glad to communicate with you by letter at this address: 6 Elm Street, Bethesda, Maryland. I will be cautious in what I write. Please write to me when you can. Work hard and make me proud of you, Joshua.

Yours sincerely,

Elizabeth Warren"

"On no! Beth!" cried Heyes, just as if Beth could hear him. He grieved deeply for her. Having lost his own family almost completely when he was so young, he had a keen appreciation for the importance of close relatives. A second cousin was all he had left – the Kid, of course – who meant as much to him as any brother ever could have. There were a couple of people who were technically relatives but who had sworn that they would shoot him out of sheer principal if they ever saw him again. But he hardly counted those are true relations.

So Heyes and Beth would have to put their own questions aside for a while. Their problems were not ones that could be worked out by letter, but at least a sort of contact could continue. For a single lady to give a single man permission to write was, in those days, a significant social step. Heyes was not sure exactly how significant and in what way, so he tried not to read too much into it. He wished he could find a woman to ask about these things. He had always asked Beth herself such questions! In any case, Beth would be too distracted by caring for her aunts to think much about Heyes, he felt sure. But she would also be feeling isolated and lonely by now. So he wrote to her, buoyed up by her closing. "Yours sincerely" could be just an old-fashioned convention – but Heyes felt certain that it was not in this instance. To him it held an important message. Could it be that she wanted to truly be his?

When Heyes got back to his room he held the little note on plain white paper up to his heart and then kissed it tenderly. It was a good thing the Kid wasn't there to tease him! Heyes so agonized over composing a letter to Beth that he was a little late for his next class – something that he had never previously allowed to happen. And since he did not truly understand how Beth felt about him, and she was in a situation where her own considerations must come a distant second, he could not possibly risk writing her a frank love letter. She would have concluded very rightly that he was a selfish and inconsiderate dolt. He sweated over how to address her. He finally chose her lovely first name but not her nick name, as a decent step up in intimacy without going too far. It would invite her to be more familiar with him, as well. He considered the closing very carefully. However, he finally decided that nothing would be gained by being coy. He only wished that he could dare to be as bold in the text. Letters in those days were so firmly hedged around with proprieties that Heyes felt his true feelings were very badly constrained by the form.

"Dear Elizabeth-

My apologies for being so slow in writing. I have only just received yours of October 10th. I am very sorry to hear of your aunt's illness. I hope that she will improve well under your loving care. It will surely be a great comfort for both of your aunts to have you with them. Thank you very much for writing. I would have worried very much had I not heard from you. I am working hard at my studies and hope to make you proud. My mid-term exams and papers have all earned grades of A or A plus. Please write to me whenever you have the time and attention to do so. As usual, I will depart for Colorado in December after the end of exams. You may write to me there and my current address is attached. I am sorry not to have given it to you previously, but you will understand my reasons, which have much to do with your own security. I miss you very much.

Love,

Joshua"

Heyes felt as nervous as any lovelorn teenager as he posted this letter, with its shy declaration of his affections all but camouflaged in a single word he had never in his life dared to say to any woman except his mother.

Heyes threw himself into his studies, but he was always conscious of waiting for Beth's reply. He was also corresponding with the Kid, having sent a coded message to say that the Tryon threat seemed to be a false one and that there was someone else who might pose a threat, but only a distant one. The Kid sent back encouragement for Heyes' freedom and studies, both.

Two weeks later, a brief letter arrived from Beth.

"Dear Joshua-

Your kind letter arrived at a moment when I needed it very much. Both of my aunts are now ill and I am hard put to care for them as well as they need. When I am not cooking or nursing believe me I am praying. Therefore you will understand why I can write so seldom and only so briefly. The patience and goodness of both my aunts is inspirational, but I feel isolated with no time to step out of the house for more than the briefest of shopping trips. Your letter makes me feel much less lonely.

I think of you often and am very glad to hear that your studies are going well. You sounded so ill when you visited before that it worried me very much. I hope that your excellent grades indicate that you recovered fully in my absence. Please write and tell me how you are. Keep studying hard, but be sure to take some time for your own welfare and satisfaction. You are very much worth it.

Yours sincerely,

Beth"

Heyes searched every line of the little note over and over for every minutest sign of how the writer felt about him. It seemed to him to be full of very positive signs. She had signed with her nick name, which was another step up in intimacy, but she had not stated any affections. Her wording that he had recovered in her absence hinted that she felt bad for having hurt him and felt he might do better without her. Yet Heyes kept reading extra words into the spaces between the lines, fantasizing about what Beth would truly have liked to have said. He would have to be circumspect in his reply. Patience and caution would be required in this slow, long distance courtship. And romance must never lead what he had to say – since it was far from Beth's highest priority at the moment. Her love for her family must come first. But he could not keep from expressing his affection.

"Dear Beth-

You are so strong a soul – I know you can do all that you must for your aunts. Yet it upsets me to think of how difficult this is for you. How can you ask me to take time for myself when you have no time for yourself? I wish so much that I could be there to help you. Say the word and I will come. But perhaps I am not exactly the company you want for your poor dear aunts. Most of my nursing experience has been confined to bullet holes in my partner, I'm afraid.

My speech totally recovered, as least to its previous level, as soon as I understood how you felt. Yes, Beth, you have the power to rob me of speech – but also to restore it again. Dr. Leutze has been able to help me to continue improving my writing facility, which is being a great help with my verbal subjects. I am taking German this semester, hoping to be able in future to write to some of the leading mathematicians in Germany and Austria and Switzerland. My acquaintance with vernacular Yiddish is being a great help in that. I feel that I am doing well in all subjects, but I am working hard now as exams approach.

I think of you all the time and the last lines of your last letter are often in my thoughts. If you find me worthwhile, then that is all that I can ask. Please write again as soon as you are able. I am eager always to know what your life is like. Please let me know if ever there is anything I can do to help. Jim sends his regards, and I send all my love.

Your own, Joshua"

Was he being too bold? Heyes waited two more weeks to the end of the semester and no letter came. He completed the semester, with a series of brilliant papers and exams. There was still no letter from Beth. Heyes worried. Had he said too much in his letter and offended Beth, or had one of her aunts taken a turn for the worse? As he got on the train to go out to Colorado after exams were over Heyes thought of going south instead of west. But he decided that having a notorious outlaw show up at her aunts' nice little house in the Washington, D.C., suburbs would hardly please Beth.


	8. Chapter 8

Heyes was back in Louisville for the third Christmas after his shooting. A blanket a pristine white snow lay over the looming Colorado mountains as Heyes got off the train and shook his partner's hand. "How're things at Christy's?" asked Heyes.

"Real good, partner," answered the Kid very honesty, "good business and no – um – problems lately." That is, no bounty hunters or outside sheriffs or dangerous outlaws had been through lately. But as he spoke the Kid studied his partner – that was where the problems were lately. Heyes' letters of late had been short and perfunctory. When Heyes had little to say for himself he was, in the Kid's experience, either incredibly busy or trying to hide something – or both. The Kid's partner certainly looked a lot better than he had when he had arrived for the summer vacation. But there was still a shadow in those brown eyes. And Heyes said very little.

The Kid, Cat, and Heyes had a pleasant Christmas together. Heyes brought down his guitar and they sang Christmas carols together between the delicious meals Cat fixed for them.

After Christmas dinner the Kid and Cat sat on a love seat and snuggled next to the stove while Heyes sat a little ways off. His eyes looked about a million miles away-or at least sixteen hundred miles. He sighed and looked out the window at the snow falling gently in the dark outside.

"What's eating you, Heyes" asked Cat. She wondered if it was just the usual Christmas thing – remembering his family and how he had lost them – or something more.

"Nothing, Cat," Heyes smiled at Cat, but the smile lasted only a second and didn't go above his lips. He looked at Cat and the Kid holding hands by the glowing stove, and he looked outside again.

"How's school?" asked the Kid.

"Fine, Kid, just fine." Heyes' voice was flat and non-committal.

"That ain't much to say, partner. What've you been doing all these months?"

"Taking a lot of classes, Kid. Want to finish soon as I can and get back out here. Passed 'em all." Heyes looked out the window again.

Cat looked closely at Heyes. "What about that guy Tryon who spotted you? Any word?"

"Good news there – I think. I saw the guy in Central Park – know it was him, another guy called him by name. He looked right at me and didn't recognize me! Guess the glasses fooled him." Now Heyes did grin – this news made him reasonably happy. But he went on, "But he didn't look at me hard. I do kind'a wonder if he might see me again and have something click. If he's on duty in Manhattan now . . ."

The Kid shook his head, "Since when is there anything sure in this life, Heyes, especially for us!"

"Since never, Kid." Heyes laughed. "For us. Other people, though . . . "

"Lonesome for Beth, aren't you?" asked Cat, putting her finger on the problem and not for the first time. Heyes nodded and sighed and kept gazing out the window. "You're welcome to ask her out here any time, you know," Cat offered, "or any of your friends." She knew that Heyes and Beth were back to speaking again, but didn't know that much more about the situation.

"Thanks, Cat. I appreciate that," Heyes said quietly. He sighed again. "I doubt she'd come. She always says she wants to see the West, but she's at home in the East. And she'd have to have a . . . chaperone – come out here - don't know who it would be that we could trust out here. And besides, she's looking after her sick aunts in Maryland for I don't know how long. Been months . . . I write and she writes back, but I don't know where we stand. I just don't know." And that was the most Heyes would say on the subject.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The day after Christmas, a letter arrived for Heyes from Beth. But it had gotten wet somewhere along its path. The pages were fused and the ink had run. Heyes tried in vain to get the sheets apart using the sharpest thin bladed knife from among his varied kit of tools of thievery. All he made was an illegible heap of bits of distorted paper. He could not read one word past his own address, in Beth's neat hand. The unspeakably frustrated Heyes dumped the mess into the stove to burn.

He stalked out into the December cold in his heavy coat, thinking he might go riding. He rode Clay up and down the local road for a few minutes, but it was just too cold and snowy for him to go out into the mountains. This time of year, the snow was measured in feet rather than inches. Even out in the immensity of the West, Heyes felt trapped.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next day, another figure from New York jumped off the 12:06 train and found his way to Christy's place, in the shadow of the snow-covered Colorado mountains. The New Yorker found the Christy's sign and pushed aside the swinging doors to swagger into the saloon. He encountered a second set of doors that he hadn't counted on - storm doors. But after all, it was awfully cold in Colorado in the winter. Past the storm doors the newcomer found a row of coated men leaning on the long bar, downing beers and whiskeys. A man with curly, honey-colored hair was behind the bar talking to one of the row of customers, a man in a dark, battered hat that the man from New York recognized. It had hung on a bedpost in his room for over a year. "J-Joshua!"cried Jim.

The black hatted cowboy whirled around, his right hand touching the grip of his gun until he saw Jim's scarred but smiling face. "Jim! Wow, you really came West at last!" Heyes smiled gladly at his New York roommate and gave him a bear hug.

The Kid came out from behind the bar to meet this young man he had heard so much about. Heyes beamed and said, "Jim, this is Thaddeus Jones, my partner. Thaddeus, this is Jim Smith, who watches my back in New York."

"Welcome to Christy's place, Jim!" exclaimed Jones and shook Jim's hand. "Whatever you want, it's on the house!"

Jim's face positively glowed with joy. "Thanks M-M-Mr. J-J-Jones!"

Cat heard them and came out to meet Heyes' New York friend. "We are mightily glad to see you, Jim!" exclaimed Cat. "Welcome to Christy's Place! We're really happy to have you stay here for as long as you want."

Jim could hardly take his eyes off the very lovely Cat Christy.

"Thank you, m-m-miss Ch-Ch-Christy!" said Jim, "I'm ob-b-bligued to you!" The easterner was delighted to sneak in that western phrase he had read in many a dime western.

"Jim, what'll you have?" asked the Kid, heading back behind the bar.

"Whiskey!" said Jim with a grin, thinking of many scenes in western novels. But he quickly changed his mind. "Ac-c-t-t-tually, I'm d-d-damn cold. D-d-do you have a hot c-c-coffee?"

"Sure thing, Jim." answered the Kid with a wink.

Jim stared around the place, fascinated with every detail of this authentic western saloon with its long mirror behind the bar and a painting of a naked girl and a guy playing an upright piano. It was right out of the dime novels. He got a charge out of seeing his roommate in this setting, rather than on Long Island, dressed in a cowboy hat and boots and with a pistol openly on his hip just like the western heroes and villains from the books. The pair who had leaned on a few eastern bars leaned on Christy's bar together and the Kid stood on the other side.

"S-s-so, you really are a c-c-cowboy?" Jim asked Joshua.

Heyes shrugged. "No. Not really. I only own one horse when real cow . . . punching takes a good ten or twelve. I'm not a good enough roper to make a decent living that way. I've been on some cattle drives. Man, it's hard work! Ain't it Thaddeus?"

"Damn right!" agreed Jones. "Up before dawn, ride all day and into the dark. And oh, that prairie's hard and cold under a blanket."

"You said it," agreed Smith, "There are lots of other odd jobs we're better at and that pay better. As Jones says, we do as little as possible, so long as it isn't hard on the back. The more correct term for us is saddle bums, or it was before Jones settled down here with Cat to tend bar and run the hotel. And you know what I spend most of my time doing, these days."

Joshua Smith cheered right up with his eastern friend in town. He happily showed Jim around the saloon and introduced him to everyone, including the very lovely Valerie. Heyes wasn't spending as much time with Valerie as he had over the summer – in fact he didn't do more than buy her a drink now and then. But Jim was seriously impressed by the auburn-haired beauty and he was glad to buy her a drink himself.

Despite the cold, Jim insisted on visiting Clay and Blackie in the stable. Jim happily petted the two horses and looked at them with respect as Smith and Jones introduced them.

"Yeah, Jim," said Joshua Smith, "this is the horse that saved my life – and so did Thaddeus, of course."

The Kid took up the story, since his partner couldn't remember that part when he had been unconscious. "He led us here to Louisville when it was so dark, and I was so tired, that I couldn't find any place to go. With Joshua bleeding all over the place and out cold, it was pretty hard to know what to do. And Clay had gone lame, so we were mounted up double on Blackie. Blackie worked damn hard, carrying us both. But Blackie didn't know his way any more than I did. Clay, limping real bad, found the way all on his own. If he'd ever been here before, I don't know about it. So I don't know how he managed. Maybe he smelled hay. I don't know – whatever happened, he saved both our lives that night."

"G-G-guess you'll t-t-take good c-c-care of him always, w-w-won't you?" said Jim.

"We sure will," said Heyes, thinking again about how much he owed Clay – and his partner.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next day, Jim was indulging more of his western fantasies by taking part in a poker game with Joshua and Thaddeus and a trio of smiling locals who were willing to humor the New Yorker and not take too much of his money. They quickly began to realize that the easterner was a pretty canny player himself, if not quite the equal of his roommate. If Jim had known that he was sitting at a poker table flanked by his two greatest western heroes, he might not have been as composed as he was, as he raked in yet another pot.

Late in the afternoon, the saloon's storm door opened, letting in a blast of cold air and the bundled up figure of a ragged, sandy-haired man with buck teeth. The new comer's eyes lit up when he saw two familiar backs at the table across from the door. He came up behind Heyes and slapped him on the back. Heyes whirled around and broke into an enormous grin. "Kyle!" he cried gladly, 'We'll if it ain't old home week!"

"H . . . I mean Joshua, and ah, ah, how very nice to see you! And what a surprise! And, ah, . . . " Kyle the old Devil's Hole Gang member looked awkwardly at The Kid. As Kyle clumsily tried to cover the truth of their outlaw past, he took on so polite a manner that he sounded like he might invite them to tea any minute. He wasn't eager to annoy his old bosses and he could see how worried they were to see him suddenly. What kind of trouble might Kyle be bringing with him? He had obviously forgotten the Kid's alias, so they would have to clue him in.

"Kyle!" Heyes said quickly, "It sure is good to see you, old friend! You remember our . . . mutual friend Thaddeus Jones? He and his gal Cat run this place." The two former outlaws shook hands with the current outlaw, sneaking their fingers to their lips to warn him. Heyes felt a little nervous to see Kyle for his own reasons. Heyes' aphasia was largely gone, but not totally. He knew that Kyle would quickly notice the slight pauses in his old boss's formerly perfectly fluid speech.

"Of course I won't . . . Uh, yes, nice to see you, Jones." Heyes and the Kid exchanged uneasy glances over Kyle's head as there old Devil's Hole colleague unwound his muffler and sat down at the poker table, warming himself at the nearby stove.

"This is my friend Jim Smith," said Heyes to Kyle, who shook hands with the New Yorker. "He came out to see us from New York City. Jim, this is our old friend Kyle . . ." He left off Kyle's last name, wondering if Kyle Murtry had figured in the books Jim had read about the Devil's Hole Gang.

"H-H-How do you know Joshua?" Jim asked Kyle.

"We rode with Kyle some, few years back," Heyes answered smoothly. But Jim could hardly have failed to notice the panicked look Kyle had given Smith at this question and the uneasy glances Smith and Jones had given their old friend. Joshua neatly steered the conversation in another direction. "Kyle, Jim used to be my roommate in New York – that's where I'm living now, during the year, you know."

Kyle veered into near disaster yet again, "No He. . ., I mean Joshua, no I didn't know that. I heard as how you'd got shot in the head and couldn't talk and then I wasn't sure what happened to you. I'm damn glad to hear you talkin' so good - and to see you alive, to tell you the truth. Wheat said you was dead. What in tarnation were you doing in New York City?"

Heyes couldn't help but look at bit worried. Heyes cleared his throat a couple of times awkwardly, knowing his old outlaw colleague wouldn't understand the changes in his old boss at all. He was not real keen on having the Devil's Hole bunch all know that he was getting a college degree. Those were two very different worlds that just didn't understand each other – and Heyes was trying to live in both.

Jim eagerly took up the slack when his friend Joshua Smith seemed not to eager to tell the story, "H-h-he's studying m-m-mathematics at C-C-Columbia University, that's what he's d-d-doing! Earning t-t-top marks in the d-d-department, t-t-too. " said Jim, proud of his former roommate. The Kid looked up in surprise and gave Heyes a proud smile. He hadn't been sure of how well his partner had been coming along in school. Heyes' silence on the point had worried him some.

"You don't say!" Kyle's eyes were wide with astonishment. "The boys surely will be pleased to hear that." Kyle's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I mean that you're alive and well, Joshua."

"You mean they'll be all happy to laugh at me for being a school boy. Isn't that what you mean, Kyle?" Heyes laughed depreciatingly, even while hoping that he could find a way to explain who "the boys" were. "You know how much I always loved math. Turns out I'm really not bad at it. Not bad at all."

"You mean you're b-b-brilliant at it. Isn't th-that what p-p-professors H-H-Homer says?" Jim's eyes were sparkling. He wouldn't lose an opportunity to embarrass his former roommate with his own academic success.

"H . . . Joshua, you sure are full of surprises. And Ki . . . Thaddeus, running your own saloon and hotel. Isn't that just what you always wanted back when we, when, well, before?" Kyle grinned happily at the Kid. Having a friend running a saloon was a dream come true for the thirsty outlaw.

But having Kyle show up when Jim was in town was pretty close to a nightmare for Heyes and the Kid. They were glad to see him, but they were terrified minute to minute that he would give them away not only to Jim but to everyone else at Christy's place.

Later that afternoon the Kid found a moment alone with Kyle in the back room.

The Kid was mighty curious about some things. "What are you doing here all alone, Kyle? We always used to stay up to the Hole this time of year in the cold – could hardly get out through the snow. Can't think what has you out here riding all by your little lonesome."

"Aw, Wheat wanted us to try to rob a big mine payroll train down here on Christmas when the guards would be drunk. But all our own guys got even drunker." Kyle couldn't help laughing. "Wheat got so blamed mad at us that we thought we'd just take off for a while and enjoy the holiday on our own. We found a decent little town to stay in. But next day Wheat came after us and we had to ride out. Truth to tell, I got lost in the snow. Was mighty glad to spot this place before I got too cold. Pretty fair stroke of luck to find you boys here. I don't got two nickels to rub together." Kyle hung his head – he hated admitting how poorly the gang was doing without Heyes and the Kid, or even Big Jim, to keep the guys in line.

"Don't worry about it, Kyle. You can stay as long as you like. Ain't as though we've got a lot of business right now. Just please, would you try real hard not to use our real names! If Jim Smith finds out who we are, we'll never hear the end of it! He reads those dime novels, you know." The Kid looked Kyle in the eye and make sure he drove home his points. This was important! "And if you let Jim in on it, I hope he wouldn't turn us in, but it could make things real bad for Heyes in New York. There're plenty of people there would be real glad of ten or twenty thousand! I know you and me think Heyes is nuts, but he really wants to get that degree. I don't know what he wants with it, but I know he wants it real bad."

Kyle grinned. "Sure, Kid. I'll be careful. Can't stand those dime novels myself – they never talk none about me!"


	9. Chapter 9

The next day Jim was still looking around rather starry-eyed at the miners and cowboys. The spectacle of the man he knew as Joshua Smith playing poker, cool as a cucumber, in a real western saloon remained a wonder to Jim. Indeed, Joshua Smith stood out among everyone in the place, it seemed to Jim – and not just because he was temporary floor manager during the holidays. As Smith walked across the saloon floor Jim noted that every person there, even Thaddeus Jones, gave him a look of respect. Smith had an air of easy but unquestioned command that Jim had not encountered before – except from the top gang leaders of New York. This afternoon Jim took a break from poker for a while. He spent the time hanging out at the bar, swapping stories with Joe the bartender and Kyle and a couple of weather-beaten miners who were passing through. Heyes and the Kid were involved in a pretty intense poker game. At first they cringed with practically every syllable traded between Kyle and Jim – sure that Jim would embarrass Heyes and Kyle would give away both partners.

Kyle was full of questions, "What's this place Central Park that H . . . Joshua tells me about? A park big enough to ride horses in?"

"More than b-b-big enough! You c-c-could have fifty d-d-different g-g-guys r-r-ride f-f-fifty horses in fifty d-d-different p-p-places in C-C-Central P-P-Park and never meet all d-d-day!"

"That can't be true!" cried Kyle. Jim laughed – of course he was exaggerating but not very much.

But gradually Heyes and the Kid got so involved in their poker game that they forgot about Kyle and Jim. As the afternoon wore on and the stakes rose at the table near the door where Smith and Jones were playing, a pair of dusty men ambled in and took seats at another poker table behind the Kid. Heyes, involved in a sizable pot he was on the verge of winning from a pair of wealthy local mine owners and their foremen, took little notice. Just another pair of toughs, he thought. A couple of locals who had been waiting at the bar in hopes that more players would arrive moved over to the new table and started a game of five-card stud.

As the sun moved into the West, the voices at the new table began to grow warm and it became apparent that there was a serious disagreement between the rough-looking out-of-towners and the local men. Heyes looked up at the combative players across from him. He looked at the Kid, who was sitting across from him with his back to the troubled table, and raised his eyebrows almost undetectably in a look the Kid recognized instantly as a very discrete warning. Heyes shifted his eyes to indicate the two toughs at the loud table behind the Kid and Heyes' eyes grew just slightly wide and his jaw very tight – the Kid knew that this meant real trouble. Now the Kid recognized two of the raised voices, too, and he knew why Heyes was so worried. Things were escalating rapidly and there was the sound of chairs being pushed back. No guns had been drawn yet, but there could be no doubt that violence was coming soon. The Kid whispered very, very softly but urgently to the four miners at his table, without taking his eyes off of Heyes, "Take the pot and go, gentlemen. Now – quietly." The men nodded discretely, their eyes shifting repeatedly to the table next door.

Heyes said in a normal tone of voice, "Ah, you got it boys. That's enough for me." He tossed down his cards. "How about you, Thaddeus?"

"That's too rich for my blood, Joshua." The Kid threw in his cards. He and Heyes left their money on the table. The Kid and then Heyes stood slowly to bid their fellow players good-bye. The miners got up and said farewell a little too loudly and walked out the door just a little too quickly for Heyes' and the Kid's taut nerves and long experience. Thank goodness the troubled table was not between Heyes and Kid's table and the door. The partners exchanged a look that told both men the plan – and made it clear that they both knew they were probably about to go down hard, one way or another.

The Kid shot a brief troubled glance at Cat as a ripple of fear swept across the saloon floor. He knew that she would get everyone to safety if he and Heyes couldn't stop the gunfight that seemed inevitable. Cat quickly herded three working girls off the floor into the back room. The locals they had deserted, hearing the rising tide of anger at the strangers' table, took the excuse to leave. Cat gestured to the bar tender to be ready to hit the deck. The bar tender grabbed the dumb-struck Jim and pulled him behind the bar. Kyle dashed out the door – he knew the out-of-towners as well as Heyes and the Kid did and for the same reasons. The piano player was off on break in back, so he was in no danger. Cat vanished into the back room, giving the Kid a last anxious look. The busy time of evening was an hour or more away, thank goodness. Heyes, seeing that everyone who could be was clear, took a deep breath. He got to his feet and so did the Kid.

Heyes stood about three yards behind the two grimy out-of-towners, with the Kid just in front of him and to his right. Both men had their hands on their gun grips. Even at that moment, the two out-of-towners got to their feet and their hands started toward their guns as their opponents pushed back their chairs and looked up in fear.

"Stop!" said Heyes, cocking his own gun as the Kid cocked his. The strangers, hearing the cocking of guns behind them, did stop, with their hands clear of their guns. "Hold it right there, boys." said Heyes loudly and firmly. "Hands up. Now."

The black bearded Grover Teasdale and his brother Aloysius put their hands up, very slowly. The Teasdales slowly turned. They found two grim-faced men, guns drawn, facing them. With the sun coming near to setting outside the bar's windows, Heyes and the Kid were back lit. They just prayed that two of their fiercest outlaw rivals from Wyoming might somehow fail recognize them. The Teasdales were murders countless times over and had always openly despised the far more peaceable Devil's Hole boys. The two challenged men glared and seemed, indeed, not to be able to identify their two challengers. "Who's ordering us around?" asked Grover Teasdale in a deep baritone voice drenched in hostility.

"I am," said Heyes, "and my partner. And what we've got to say is, get out of here now - before you regret riling us."

The Teasdales both laughed. "Who do you think you . . ." Grover Teasdale paused. Then he went on in a loud, rasping voice, "Heyes and the Kid. I heard you'd gone straight. But then, I heard Heyes was dead – shot in the head they said. I almost believed it until I heard about that job you pulled in Lodge Grass last month and saw the $15,000.00 wanted posters they just put out on you both – just today over in Boulder my boys tell me. They don't raise the bounty on dead men or men gone straight. So put up those guns and let us alone. I know you don't kill – you never would. Damn fools."

"I wouldn't bank on it, Teasdale," said Heyes in a voice that somehow remained clear and steady. "What do you think, Kid?"

"I think they wouldn't be alive to leave that table unless they keep their hands up and walk out that door real slow. Then ride off and never come back." Four pairs of eyes met and smoldered for a long, long moment.

"You heard the Kid," growled Heyes. "Get out of here and get out now!"

Slowly, silently, and with furious faces and infinite reluctance, the Teasdales took the Kid's and Heyes' advice to the letter.

As soon as the Teasdales were truly gone and their horses could be heard galloping away, Heyes exhaled, "Je-sus!" and collapsed into a chair. "It's been too long since we did that – I didn't know if we still had it." The Kid started to laugh nervously as he realized how close they, and the men at the table, if not more people, had come to violent death.

Joe the bartender reappeared from behind the bar with a wide-eyed Jim next to him. "I d-d-don't believe it. You aren't r-r-really . . ." began Jim, as Joe poured a pair of whiskeys and took them to Heyes and the Kid. They knocked them back with gusto.

Kyle stuck his head back in the door and said, rather loudly, interrupting Jim, "Heyes, it is good to see you lookin' and soundin' so well. And you, too, Kid. But I think I better light out while the lightin' out is good. I sure don't want to meet those two in a dark alley or a light one neither. They might be back with more boys any time!"

"Thanks, Kyle, thanks a lot!" yelled Heyes in fury, "The folks here weren't sure of our real names. Thanks for making real sure we get a free trip to Wyoming – to the territorial prison! If you don't want to join us, I think you'd better go on your way."

"Heyes, you forget, you don't have the right to order me around no more!" exclaimed Kyle indignantly.

"Kyle, get out that door. Now." said the Kid very quietly but very firmly, with his hand on his gun grip.

"Yes sir!"exclaimed Kyle quickly as he vanished out the door. Minutes later they heard his horse galloping frantically away from the livery stable. Heyes and the Kid laughed, but not with any real humor. They both took their pistols by two fingers each and put them on the table with a pair of ominous clicks of steel on wood. "OK, when you going to cash us in, Joe?" asked Heyes in a resigned monotone. The Kid tried to avoid Cat's appalled eyes.

"Miss Catherine," asked Joe matter-of-factly. "Do you want us to turn in Mr. Curry and Mr. Heyes to the law?"

"By no means!" said Cat with calm emphasis.

"Put your guns back in your holsters, Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith," said Joe with a smile. The change of names made it clear. The only employee who had heard Heyes and Curry's real names had no intention of using them. The men whose lives they had saved quickly switched back to calling the boys Smith and Jones, too, as they expressed their thanks and left, eager to be gone long before the Teasdales could return with reinforcements. Heyes and the Kid looked up at Joe and gave him little smiles of thanks. They knew they weren't out of the woods - not by a long chalk.

Sheriff Wilde stuck his head in the door. "Was that the Teasdale Brothers I just saw ride out of here like the devil was after them?"

"It was," said the Kid. "Heyes here ordered them off and off they went."

"Knowing it was your gun pointed at them, Kid," added Heyes proudly.

Wilde looked back and forth between the partners. "You think they got more men outside town?"

"I'd bet on it," said Heyes grimly. "And they'll be here in no time if you don't give them good reason not to."

Wilde nodded "That's how I see it, so we're after them right now."

"You want me in the posse?" asked the Kid.

"'Course not! They'd shoot you straight off. We're after them now – you boys wait a few minutes for us all to get clear, then ride off and don't come back for a good while. Wire me, Kid, and let me know where you are – I'll let you know when you're good to come back. Alright?"

"Yes, sir!" The Kid finally was pleased with his association with Sheriff Wilde, "You think you've got the men to get 'em, once their other boys join in?"

"Probably not – only got one in town I can trust with your names, Kid – Jake is out riding to Denver for me - so stay clear. Now we got to ride. Good luck!"

"And to you boys!" answered the Kid.

"Bonne courage!" added Heyes for good measure as the sheriff vanished out the door.

"Bon what?" Asked Cat.

"That's French for good luck." Heyes grinned. He did enjoy showing off his new sophistication sometimes, much as it baffled his western friends. Right now, it helped to raise his spirits that were frankly in his boots.

"You ain't no reg'lar outlaw no more, that's for sure and certain, Heyes." said the Kid. "I just hope you're in shape to ride far and fast, cause we're gonna have to."

It was a few minutes before the saloon girls and the piano player returned and a few customers found their way back in, since they hadn't heard any guns fired. Soon the saloon seemed to return to normal, although a kind of stunned silence hung in the background. The piano player sat down and started to play "Camptown Races" and a poker game started at a back table. Joe poured drinks for two locals who had just walked in, unaware of the drama they had so narrowly missed.

Meanwhile Heyes and the Kid repaired to the back room, where Cat and Jim joined them. "Ch-Christ! You r-really are Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry?" asked Jim in amazement, looking from one to the other.

"Yeah, Jim," said Heyes wearily, running one hand through his long hair to get it out of his eyes. He was cringing to think of the hero-worshipping drivel he could expect from his former roommate, the obsessive reader of western dime novels

But Heyes was seriously mistaken. Jim was so incensed that he hardly stuttered. "When you moved into my r-room you let me think you were all innocent and a gang had k-k-killed your folks like they did mine. And you let me tell you all about gang leaders – and you are one!"

"Was one, Jim," said Heyes, even more wearily. "And a gang did kill our parents and our brothers and sisters. A gang of Kansas border thugs. And we do hate that life. Four years we've been straight. Won't give it up now."

"You let me go on about hating gangs and you agreed! You let me get to trust you and show you around and keep you safe and you never told me . . . !" Jim was warming into being really mad.

"Come on, Jim," Heyes barked, growing annoyed. "Could I have told you, at first? Could I? Could I have told anyone anything?"

Jim shook his head, but still wore an angry flush.

"And when I could have told you, would you have believed me?" asked Heyes angrily.

Jim looked down and flushed red. "I g-guess not. But still . . ."

"I'm sorry Jim. I really am sorry." said Heyes in a very regretful voice hardly above a whisper. "You can't know how sorry I am about all of it – every day of it. We didn't ever want to hurt anyone. It was steal or starve at first. Then, I admit it, when we found out how good we were at it and how much money we could take, it was way too easy to keep stealing, Then we figured out how wrong it was and gave it all up."

"You expect me to b-b-believe that, Josh? I mean Heyes? That you j-j-just all of s-s-sudden thought it was wrong and g-g-gave it up?" said Jim, still incensed.

"You were right the first time. Heyes is a long time ago, now."

"You'd r-r-really g-g-give up y-y-your own name?" Jim was starting to see Heyes and the Kid's side of things.

Heyes explained, "I'd be glad if it could be clean. But it never can, not now. We went straight two years before I met you, but we're still wanted. We got an offer of amnesty if we stayed clean, but it's never come through. I don't guess it ever will. We'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. Now that they've raised the . . . bounty, probably won't be that long. Especially since the . . . Teasdales know where we are and who we are." Heyes was fighting his aphasia a little on the unfamiliar words and names. He was profoundly grateful that he had had no trouble speaking when he had confronted the Teasdales. He felt himself shaking a little in relieved retrospect.

"We can't delay any longer, Kid." Heyes was tense and serious, starting toward the stairs to collect his gear. "They'll be back any time with reinforcements if they can get around the sheriff – looking for us. I just hope they won't bother anyone here if we're gone. We'll get as far gone as we can and hope to avoid the Teasdales. And if they get past the Sheriff and find us, we can hope we can draw them off at least. Don't want them back here!"

The Kid nodded and said, "Wonder how many other boys they might have someplace close? Guess we'll find out soon enough, Heyes."

While Heyes gathered his few things, Cat packed fresh food for the boys and tucked extra money in the Kid's pocket.

"Now you head on home, Jim, on tomorrow's train," Heyes told his former roommate firmly, when he had arrived back downstairs with full saddlebags.

"I'll stay and guard C-C-Cat!" said Jim stoutly. "You t-t-taught me to shoot yourself!"

Heyes shook his head firmly and told Jim, "No, Jim! You take the train back to New York tomorrow! Don't you wait! Nothing you can do against those guys – they'll have bunch of men back of them. I respect your shooting and your courage, but don't be a damn fool. You got to carry the news to Dr. Leutze – make sure they know trouble could be coming. When we can get far enough ahead of the Teasdales, we'll head to New York. They just might follow, if they're able to find out more than I hope."

"I c-c-can . . ." Jim started to protest, but the Kid stopped him.

"Look, Jim, you're forgettin' who's talkin' to you. This is Hannibal Heyes! The real deal! Heyes knows what he's talkin' about. He's the best. If he says go back to New York, that's what you go to do. Alright, Jim?"

Jim finally gave in. "Alright, K-K-Kid. I'll go b-b-back."

The boys went to the stable and picked out a pair of good horses, but not their favorites. They might well have to ride the horses they chose to death on this chase, and that was no fate for Clay and Blackie. And besides, Clay and Blackie weren't the youngest and strongest horses in Cat's stable any longer.

Cat held the Kid and wept and tried not to let him go. The Kid kissed her quickly and then broke gently away from her arms to mount up. "Good bye, Cat, honey," the Kid said from the back of a fuzzy bay gelding. "Don't know when I'll be back – but I will be. We will be. Be sure of that!"

"Take care of the place and the folks, Cat," Heyes called down from the buckskin mare he had chosen, trying to keep his tone light, "We're countin' on a safe home to come back to, when it's all over."

Then the boys turned their horses and loped away down the street. It had been a long time since Heyes and the Kid had ridden together like this. They looked grimly at each other. The sun would be setting soon and they had to put in a few miles before the mountains grew dark and deadly cold. These were the very mountains from which they had first come into Cat's life more than two years before, when Heyes' head wound had still been bloody.


	10. Chapter 10

Heyes and the Kid rode out of Louisville at a punishing but not foolish pace, allowing for that fact that they might have to ride for days without new mounts. They went on the main road for the moment, since it was much too cold and snowy off the road for safe going in those mountains. No one cleared the road, but at least the snow there was beaten down by passing hooves and the surface was relatively smooth. They wouldn't get off the road into the deep untrodden snow of the rocks and woods unless they had to. They loped and walked in alternation, eating up the miles until it was too dark to ride. The two constantly looked over their shoulders.

The Kid was leading the pair, since he knew the area better than Heyes did. Soon after they started the Kid looked over his shoulder and noticed that Heyes had put on his glasses. He couldn't restrain a smile at the incongruous picture of a desperate fleeing outlaw in scholarly-looking glasses.

"Don't you dare say anything!" cried Heyes, waving a finger at the Kid. "Not one word, Kid, or so help me . . !"

The Kid started to chuckled as he rode, then he laughed harder.

"Kid!" yelled Heyes in annoyance.

"You said not to say anything! I didn't say anything," laughed the Kid. And Heyes laughed with him. In the vast silence of the cold, darkening wilderness their laugher went out to mountains and echoed back at them. They just laughed harder as it occurred to them that it might be a long time before they got to laugh at anything again. And as they fled from a pair of confirmed murderers, there was certainly the chance that Curry or Heyes or both of them would not live long enough to ever laugh again. So they laughed hard and long at the universe that seemed all set against them. They might have lost nearly everything else, but they still had each other.

The boys rode on, lapsing into silence. No one went by except a stage. The driver looked at them askance – few were abroad so late in the day in that weather and he was worried that the two riders might be highwaymen.

As the sky went from blue to purple and the stars came out by the thousands overhead, the boys stopped at a small town and checked into the tiny lone hotel. They shared a ratty little room and put their boots under a single bed, as they so often had when they were on the run during their outlaw days, or in those first two years after they had gone straight.

Seemed like it was literally ratty – they could hear rodent activity in the walls. But at least they weren't aware of any bed bugs – yet. Bugs wouldn't have been any surprise, in a place like this. The Kid, sitting exhausted on the bed, looked at Heyes, who had striped to his long underwear and was already under the worn, stained covers. Curry sighed. "How did we wind up back at this, Heyes?"

Heyes responded bitterly, "We were just fooling ourselves to think we could leave it behind, Kid. Specially me with my big, stupid dreams. Put out that lamp and let's go to sleep. Got a long, cold ride in the morning. Or I hope it's long. Cold, I'm sure of." Heyes turned over and pulled the thin blanket over him. They could see their breaths in the cold room.

"God I miss Cat!" said the Kid softly as he put his wool-clad legs under the covers and turned out the lamp.

"Well, don't forget and put your arm around me!" muttered Heyes crossly, "You'll get a fat lip!"

Heyes' bad temper was better explained by what he didn't say than by what he did. "I miss Beth, too," thought Heyes silently, "But I've never had the privilege of sharing a bed with the lady. You lucky dog, Kid!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The pair was up before dawn in the cold and the dark. They didn't dare wait longer to be on their way. They roused the sleepy cook and got some poorly cooked bacon and eggs and a couple of cups each of very bad coffee to hold them until they could risk stopping. Then they went to tack up the horses, who were just as sour and tired as their riders.

"Stop blowing out your belly, Whistle!" grouched the Kid. "I'll get this cinch around you one way or another and I don't have time to be nice about it." Curry punched the furry bay horse gently in the belly and the beast deflated enough to allow him to finish saddling the ill-tempered animal.

Then they were on the road again, loping and walking, walking and loping, mile after frigid mile along the road. Their mounts scrambled up the snowy slopes and skittered down the far icy sides. They stopped for lunch in a sheltered spot between some rocks that blocked the bitter winter wind. They decided to risk making a fire – they were too cold to go on without some hot food and drink to warm them.

"Well, no matter what you thought, Heyes, that risk worked out alright." said the Kid as they put snow onto the fire to douse it. "No one out there that I can hear."

But Heyes, whose hearing was better than the Kid's due to the famous gun man's many hours of loud gun practice, cocked his head alertly and gestured to the Kid to mount up fast. They were on their horses instantly and riding away along the road at a dead run. It wasn't long before they could both hear the sound of hoof beats coming rapidly behind them on the far side of a mountain slope that blocked their view. There were at least four horses behind them. It didn't sound like a coach – there was no tell-tale rattle of metal-tired wheels on the frozen road, and they were coming too fast. The boys silently agreed to leave the road and strike off into the woods, hip deep in snow in many places, where they might be able to elude detection. Heyes tried to use a bundle of sticks to rake over their tracks to cover where they had left the road, but he wasn't satisfied with what he was able to accomplish and didn't dare take time to do any better. Everything was just too cold and frozen.

They weren't long off the road when the riders they had heard pursuing them approached. The boys were high up a wooded mountain slope, well hidden in the trees. They stopped and held still in the winter cold. Peering from behind the pine trees, Heyes and Curry watched the road. It was the Teasdales all right, with two nasty looking additional men along. The Teasdales were riding right by the spot where the Kid and Heyes had left the road – they had missed the tracks! The Teasdales continued galloping along and vanished around the next bend in the road.

Then Curry's horse whinnied loudly after the retreating horses.

"Oh shit!" exclaimed the Kid with feeling. He dug his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his mount, and off he and Heyes rode at top speed into the woods, or as close to top speed as the horses could make when they were plunging through snow that was often nearly up to their bellies. It wasn't safe to go that fast in the deep snow and ice and rocks of the wintery mountains, but they had no choice. The Teasdales were off the road and after them within seconds, coming on just as fast or faster on fresher horses. Heyes and the Kid rode recklessly fast around one mountain slope and then another, but they could hear the Teasdales catching up. Heyes' and Curry's horses scrambled up a slope and around its crest and they plunged down the other side toward a half-frozen mountain stream. A hail of bullets came after them as the Teasdales came over the ridge behind them. But soon the bullets stopped, none of them having hit their mark. The boys' pursuers hadn't spared time to re-load – instead they were still riding much too close behind the pair of fleeing reformed outlaws.

Heyes' unaccustomed mount shied badly as they approach the stream, ready to jump the narrow but treacherous water. The Kid shouted a warning, but it was too late. Heyes' buckskin had taken him under a low branch that swept his rider off and into the icy stream with an enormous splash. Heyes tried to get up amid the wet, icy rocks and fell. He was soaked through before he could manage to stand. The Kid, pulling up his own horse to help his partner, gasped in helpless horror. In the bitter Colorado cold, wetness could quickly be fatal. But Heyes, cursing a blue streak, still held his horse's trailing reins. He was able to pull the animal back to him. Although Heyes was already shivering hard, he mounted rapidly. Then the pair was off again, their mounts quickly climbing the far bank of the stream that had soaked Heyes.

There was no way to dry off Heyes without stopping and surrendering to the Teasdales or being shot by them. Heyes' fall had scattered ice and quickly freezing water all around the stream crossing. The Teasdales skidded and slowed to avoid falling into the stream themselves. This gave the Kid and Heyes the break they needed. They picked up a bit of a lead as they raced through the woods. But the lead was not enough - the Teasdales were only about seventy-five feet back. If they started shooting again, there wasn't much question of how this chase would end. With Heyes shivering violently in the saddle as hypothermia closed in on him, things looked bleak.

But Heyes' head went up alertly – his keen ears had caught the sound of another group of approaching horsemen. In moments, Sheriff Wilde and his loyal deputy burst out from behind a stand of pines. The Teasdales turned to retreat from the law, riding back toward the road while Heyes and the Kid took off in the opposite direction. Grover Teasdale was shouting, "God damn it! That's Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes – thirty thousand in reward money riding away from you!" But Wilde paid no mind and doggedly pursued the Teasdales through the snow drifts and rocks.

Heyes and the Kid didn't dare to stop just yet, since there were four Teasdales being chased by only the Sheriff and his single deputy. One or more of the Teasdale gang could come for the boys at any time. The Kid desperately wished that they could stop. He heard Heyes sneeze and cough again and again. His wet clothes were freezing to his skin. They had to get Heyes in out of the cold or he would be in severe trouble very soon. He probably already was. But there simply was no warm place to stop in the deep snow of the mountains. The sun shown, but it seemed to provide hardly any warmth. They were miles from any town.

The Kid had to get Heyes dry and warm. There was no sign of the Teasdales, but also no sign of any man-made shelter – not even a tiny line cabin such as was so common in the area. Enough before sunset that he still had light and time to gather what he needed, the Kid stopped and made camp in a spot behind a rock ledge that broke the biting wind and kept the snow shallow there. Heyes was slumped limply in his saddle coughing and shivering. The Kid had to help him down from his horse. Over Heyes' faint objections, Curry made a big crackling fire of dry pine branches as the sun began to set at the end of one of the shortest days of the year. The Kid stripped his shivering partner near the fire and tried to rub him dry and chafe some warmth into his nearly blue limbs. Clumsily, Curry changed the barely conscious Heyes into dry clothes while his wet ones steamed on branches by the fire. The slumping Heyes was so cold and exhausted that he couldn't do anything except shiver and cough and sneeze. He didn't even speak.

Having felt Heyes' skin so much in the last few minutes, the Kid was in no doubt that his partner had a high fever. This was no surprise, but what could they do about it? The Kid combined their bedrolls so they could share body heat, but it was still horribly cold. Curry gathered as much fire wood as he could and made their bed on the biggest pile of green pine boughs he could manage to get together, but Heyes was so wracked with alternate sweats and chills that none of it seemed to do much good.

It was a terrible night. Curry got up every hour or two to throw more wood on the fire while Heyes shivered and coughed and twitched in his fever. Bleary-eyed, having hardly rested, much less slept, the Kid got up with the dawn and fixed hot coffee and gruel for himself and Heyes. Heyes could barely sit up to eat. He leaned forward farther and farther as if he would collapse completely and his eyes kept drifting closed. When breakfast was over, the Kid had to saddle up both horses and help Heyes onto his horse. He doubted that Heyes could ride for long without falling. His eyes were dull and he was muttering incoherently about something the Kid couldn't understand. The Kid was sick with fear and worry. The Kid led the pair off into the woods, hoping against hope that they would find some shelter soon.

As if in answer to the Kid's prayer, they soon stumbled into a small town. A sign proclaimed it to be Dead Elk – not a name that gave the Kid any comfort. He had never heard of the place and had no idea where it might be. He found a doctor's office, but the doctor was out and there was no sign of when he would return. The Kid took Heyes to the local hotel where he could at least be in a warm place and get some warm food. On the way to the hotel, the Kid noticed a train station. The town must be on a small branch line. After he had fed Heyes some hot soup and tucked the sick outlaw into bed with a hot water bottle, the Kid inquired into where trains went and when. A train east was leaving at a few minutes after noon. There wouldn't be another for two days. But if they caught that noon train, Curry soon realized that it would take only two connections to get them on the main line to New York City. The Kid bought two tickets to New York. It took a big chunk out of their limited funds, but they would have enough for food and drink to get them to the city, and even some extra for doctors, if Heyes lived so long.

The Kid, stumbling with exhaustion, set off on a frantic series of errands he had to accomplish before they caught the train at noon. He went back to check on the doctor and found the office still empty. Then he went to the telegraph office to send several urgent messages. He didn't dare make them too cryptic – it seemed to him more important to communicate clearly than to keep secrets in this tiny place where he hoped no law (he saw no sheriff's office) and no Teasdales would ever come.

To Sheriff Wilde he sent,

We are in Dead Elk Co stop Smith very sick stop taking train to NYC stop arrive in four days stop What news of T brothers stop reply soonest stop we leave at noon stop

Thaddeus Jones

To Cat he sent much the same, but added:

Wilde on T brothers trail stop I will be back when Wilde says is safe stop

and he also sent:

To Dr. Leutze, Leutze Clinic, New York, New York

Smith and I fleeing Teasdale Brothers gang stop seem to have lost them stop so taking train to NYC hope to see you in four days stop Smith very sick stop

And Curry also sent an update to sheriff Lom Trevors in Porterville Wyoming to make sure the man knew that the Lodge Grass job wasn't theirs (which was obvious enough since Trevors knew all about Heyes' school in New York) and about what was happening with the Teasdales. Trevors knew the Teasdales all too well.

Then the Kid went back to check the doctor's office – the man was still gone.

Then the utterly spent Curry dared to take time to drop into the local bar in search of gossip about where the doctor might be and any other news of interest. He also desperately needed to sit down and get some lunch and hot coffee if he was to keep going. He ate some very good beef stew while he heard that the doctor was at a cabin far outside town delivering a baby and might be gone for hours. This was a bitter disappointment. At least there was no word of the Teasdales. Then Curry returned to the telegraph office. A message awaited him.

To Thaddeus Jones, Dead Elk, Colorado

T brothers still at large stop Two goons in custody stop watch your backs stop hope Smith better soon stop stay in touch stop

Sheriff Wilde, Red Gulch, Colorado

Curry wondered for a moment how Wilde had gotten the message, since he was many miles from his home office. But the Kid realized that the Sheriff must have left someone covering the Louisville office, and telegraphed to that person where he was, then had messages relayed to him. Ah, this modern technology!

At about eleven thirty, the Kid went to the hotel room where Heyes was asleep, breathing noisily.

"Heyes," he called softly, shaking his sick partner's shoulder, "wake up partner! We got a train to catch to New York." Heyes just moaned softly and didn't open his eyes. Curry shook him again. "Up and at 'em, Heyes!" Heyes moaned again, more loudly, but he slowly sat up and opened his eyes blearily. His eyes and nose were very red and he looked generally terrible. The Kid helped Heyes up and put his hat and coat on him. The feverish man could hardly breathe, much less walk.

The Kid, burdened with two sets of saddle bags and the stumbling Heyes, helped his partner to the train station and, with difficulty, got him on the train. The Kid got Heyes installed in a comfortable seat where his partner hoped he could get some sleep. Then the Kid fixed himself up similarly – he was yawning repeatedly, in terrible need of sleep himself. They pair soon dropped off to sleep. It might have been safer to have someone on the lookout, but they couldn't spare anyone – they both needed sleep more than anything else.

They had to wake up that evening to change trains. Again, the Kid had a hard time getting Heyes awake at all. The Kid got a conductor to help him with Heyes and the baggage, since he partner still couldn't stand on his own.

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The coughing Heyes tended to drive other people out of the train car where he was, so thank goodness the partners had some privacy. They were alone when the Kid shook Heyes awake the next morning, looking anxiously to see how the sick man was. Heyes looked awful - pale, almost grey, with a very red nose. He was so hoarse that he could barely talk, but he was alert enough to ask, "Where are we?"

"On the train east to New York, Heyes. Don't know what state we're in, but nearly a day east of that little town where we got the train in eastern Colorado."

Heyes coughed, but said, "Thanks, Kid." Gasping to speak through his hoarseness, he shortened his next question to, "Teasdales?"

The Kid hated to give an honest answer, but he had to. "Still on the loose, last Wilde telegraphed. They got the two goons but not the brothers. How you feelin'?"

"Alive. Unfortunately." Heyes coughed and moaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"Hang in there. I'll get you some breakfast and then you get some more sleep. We got to change trains again this afternoon."

When the afternoon train change came, Heyes had to lean on the Kid to stand at all. A conductor helped them with their luggage. This train being too crowded to spare an entire car for the sick Joshua Smith and his partner, the train staff installed them in the little caboose with its pair of cots. The conductors would sleep with the passengers on this leg of their trip. The caboose afforded some privacy and the solid walls of the long freight door in the center of each side wall helped to keep the light from the many windows of a regular passenger car from waking Heyes during the day. There was even a pot-belly stove in the caboose with a hopper full of coal to keep them warm. Kid felt better himself – he was more rested and now they had a straight three-day shot to New York. A doctor Curry met on the train gave Heyes some powder to take that he thought would help. The Kid began to relax. No more horses, no more pursuing outlaws, no more shooting, no more snow. Just a nice warm train ride to New York where Heyes could get well in peace. They were able to sleep through the night with no one else in their train car – just as well because Heyes coughed half the night. The next day Heyes didn't seem to get any better, but no worse.

At some dark hour very early the next morning, Heyes and the Kid suddenly woke up in the darkness. They had been alone in the caboose when they went to sleep but they knew that they had company. They couldn't see a thing in the utter blackness, but they could hear the breathing of two additional people. They sounded like large people. They smelled like unsavory people. The Kid cocked his gun in the darkness. He heard three answering cocks in rapid secession. He thought Heyes' gun was the last one. The Kid was astonished that his partner was able to take up his gun at all. It was too dark for anyone to fire for several tense minutes.

Then the train rounded a bend and a faint beam of dawn cast grey light through the eastern bank of windows into the train car. Then the Kid could see that the two figures who had entered the caboose were all too familiar – the hulking black-bearded forms of the Teasdale brothers! Four guns went off almost simultaneously, and there were simultaneous howls from two men struck. One of these was Grover Teasdale, who stumbled and fell against the side door as he took a shot in the leg. "Al!" yelled Grover, "I'm hit!"

"How bad?" growled Aloysius in the darkness, making his way to his brother's side. "And where in hell is Heyes?"

But at the same moment Grover Teasdale had yelled there was also a cry from the Kid. He had taken a hit in his right arm above the elbow. Somehow he managed not to drop his Colt, but he doubted he could fire it, much less aim it accurately. The bullet hadn't hit bone or tendon, but it had ploughed a furrow across the side of his arm, damaging a lot of muscle and causing a lot of rapid bleeding. The Kid didn't hear any cry from his partner; in fact he couldn't spot Heyes any more than the Teasdales could before the darkness closed in again as the train changed directions.

Before Grover Teasdale could answer his brother to say how badly he was hit, a shot banged loudly in the tight space and Aloysius Teasdale gave a pained yell of his own. The side door of the caboose opposite the Kid opened suddenly while the train shuddered rounding another curve. As grey dawn light flooded the train car, the Kid saw Aloysius Teasdale collapsing. But Grover Teasdale was still standing, leaning against the caboose's door frame. And he had his gun pointed at the Kid's heart from only about two yards away – he could scarcely miss. The Kid wasn't sure that he could fire his Colt, but he had to try or die where he stood. The train shivered. The Kid's wounded arm made it almost impossible to aim. If they hadn't been so close he wouldn't even have tried. The two guns went off at the same moment.

As the two roars sounded in the confined space of the caboose, the Teasdales tripped over something low near the door, causing Grover's bullet to fly wildly into the car's ceiling. Whatever had tripped the Teasdales had saved the Kid's life and whatever it was caused both murderous brothers to tumble out of the opened door. As he fell, Grover yelled bitterly "See you at Leutze's place, boys!" Then the two bearded outlaws crashed into some bushes near the tracks and they were left behind by the train.

But very soon the train passed a town. Neither Teasdale seemed too seriously injured. Curry worried that if they could get medical attention in that town so near where they had fallen, they could catch the next train and follow Heyes and Curry to New York

Curry, trying in vain to staunch the rapid bleeding of his own wound, stumbled across the caboose to slide the side door closed. But before he closed the door, he took advantage of the light to see what the Teasdales had tripped over that made them fall out the door at just that opportune moment and avert a murder. It was Heyes.

The Kid's partner lay unconscious in a pool of blood, his smoking pistol near his extended right hand, just at the threshold of the door. Despite how sick Heyes was, he had obviously been the one who had shot Aloysius Teasdale; and he had opened the caboose's side door so he could tip the Teasdales out of it. The Kid was stunned by what his sick partner had managed. Curry looked in horror at Heyes – the blood around the fallen man was not all from the wounded Teasdales. There was a heavily bleeding bullet wound in Heyes' left hip. The Kid realized with sick certainty that only one man could have fired the bullet into Heyes. His aim spoiled by his wound and the moving train, when Curry had tried to shoot Grover Teasdale, he had fired low and hit his own partner instead.

The Kid, terrified that Heyes would slide out the wide opening, struggled to slide the caboose's heavy door closed. As he pressed his wounded right arm into service, he gave a moan. God it hurt! How on earth had Heyes managed it? With his left hand the Kid opened a window shade to let in light so he could see Heyes and figure out how badly hurt he was, but the dawn light was still terribly dim. A train conductor came in from the front of the caboose, carrying a lit lantern. He demanded to know, "What the hell is going on in here? The gun play all over?"

Curry collapsed onto the bloody floor beside his partner, muttering to the conductor. "Teasdale brothers jumped us. My partner tripped them out the train door. It's all over."

Curry leaned over the still, pale form of Heyes. Something was terribly wrong and Curry, struggling to stay conscious as his own blood flowed away, took a moment to realize what it was. Then it struck him. Heyes was silent – there was no sound of the sick man's labored breathing.

The train conductor crouched over Heyes and turned his head to tell the Kid, "It appears to me this man is dead."


	11. Chapter 11

The Kid couldn't help but agree with the conductor – Heyes sure looked dead. Curry felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. As he fought to keep from passing out due to blood loss and shock, he felt sick and numb. He had killed Heyes. While trying to save his own life, he had accidentally shot his own partner to death. The one who had saved the Kid's life had been Heyes – it had been the last act of his short life. And then the Kid had killed him.

Curry stared at Heyes' body, too numb and exhausted and shocked to speak or even cry. The Kid remembered Cat's telling him about her vision of Heyes lying in a pool of his own blood. She had been right. Heyes was horribly white. His lips were slightly parted as if had been about to say something when the Kid's bullet took his life. The Kid knew that Heyes had had a great dream – the reason he had been studying so hard. And Heyes had never dared to tell his partner what it was. The brown eyes were open in a fixed dull stare. The Kid couldn't stand to see that terrible, accusing gaze. His own right arm was bleeding and trembling, so the Kid reached gently with his left hand to close his partner's eyes.

As Curry's hand crept up Heyes' face, he felt a tiny warm breath on his hand. Heyes' eyelids fluttered under Curry's fingers and closed on their own. Heyes was alive! His breathing was terribly shallow and slow, but it was unmistakable. The Kid, knowing he wasn't up to helping Heyes much, called out to the conductor, "He's alive! He's alive! He's breathing! Please help him! I can't. . ." and Curry passed out.

When the Kid woke, he found himself lying on a cot in the caboose with his wounded arm bound up neatly and his arm in a sling. Heyes was lying in the other cot next to him, breathing slowly and noisily. His wound, too, had obviously been cleaned and dressed and bandaged, since there was no more blood to be seen. A little bit of color had returned to his cheeks, but not much. The conductor said a nurse happened to be riding on the train and she had been glad to help the two wounded men. Heyes lay very still all that day, never regaining consciousness. But slowly, he started to look less white and his breathing grew stronger.

But the Kid, after a few hours of sleep and some food and plenty of water, sat up and looked around. He felt like he could manage pretty well so long as he didn't need to use his right arm. He just wasn't sure what they would do when they got to New York. He remembered the yell from Grover Teasdale – the Teasdale brothers knew about Heyes and Doctor Leutze's clinic. And they wouldn't keep the identities of Heyes and the Kid any secret - that was for sure. What in God's name, Curry wondered, would happen when they got to Grand Central Depot the next day?

Heyes sure wasn't up to making a plan. The Kid thought about the last time he and Heyes had made a plan in a caboose. That time Heyes had been pacing up and down as he thought. This time the Kid would have to do it sitting on a cot.

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Heyes finally opened his eyes early the next morning as the dawn light came in the caboose's windows and struck the side of his face. The Kid leaned over him in concern. "What the . . . hell . . . happened, Kid? Don't . . . remember." Heyes whispered weakly as his eyes flickered opened. "It hurts."

The Kid leaned over his pale, wheezing partner, "Oh Christ, Heyes, one of the Teasdales shot me in the trigger arm. When I tried to shoot Grover before he could plug me again I slipped and hit you. I didn't mean to shoot you! God, I'm so sorry! We thought you were dead- the conductor and I! We were sure of it. Thank God we were wrong!" But by the time Curry had finished speaking, Heyes had passed out again.

Late that afternoon the train pulled into Grand Central Depot. The Kid had his own and Heyes' saddle bags packed. It had been hard with only one arm working properly. But then the nurse, Miss Thompson, a nice middle-aged lady, had come back to check on the pair and had helped with packing. Heyes lay on a stretcher. Even though he was awake, for the moment, as weak as he was and with the wound in his hip, it would be impossible for him to walk. Curry had arranged with the conductor to find porters to carry the stretcher off the train. They would find a cab for Heyes and take him to the nearest hospital.

But as the train pulled in, the Kid heard what news boys outside the train were yelling. He knew that he would have to figure out a different plan – and figure it out fast.

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At the Leutze clinic in New York Dr. Leutze, too, heard yelling newsboys. They were, as usual, shouting on the street outside the clinic. He couldn't hear their exact words, just the sound of their shrill voices. He ignored them as he did every day. But then he heard a strange sound – a dull heavy thump from Beth Warren's office. After burying one of her aunts and entrusting the other to her married sister in West Virginia, she had recently returned from Maryland and was working frantically to get back into her teaching. So what had happened?

The good doctor knocked on the door. He got no answer. He knocked again and yelled. Again, he heard no response. He anxiously searched through his keys and found the one to Miss Warren's office. He opened the door to find Beth Warren lying unconscious on the floor. The doctor bent over Beth and looked at her carefully – he could see nothing physical wrong with her except that she was very pale. But now that he was closer to the clinic's windows, he could hear the newsboys more clearly and he understood what had happened to Beth. The newsboys were shouting:

"Gunfight on New York Train: Teasdale Brothers and Kid Curry injured, Hannibal Heyes Slain"

Obviously, Beth Warren, on hearing this news, had fainted dead away.

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Kid Curry heard the same headline shouted at him at Grand Central Depot. He had no idea how the news, inaccurate as it was, had gotten out. Maybe it had come from the Teasdales themselves or someone they had told. Now he didn't dare take Heyes to a hospital – they would be arrested within minutes. He leaned over Heyes and whispered, "Where can we go, partner? We've got to get out of sight, fast! The news has the story of our little gun fight! They think you're dead, but otherwise, it's too accurate! I wish I knew what all was in that story!"

"I don't know what to do," whispered Heyes, "If they know about . . . Leutze, they could know about my . . . room, or school. I don't know where we can . . . hole up." It was obvious that he was not just weak – his aphasia was troubling him badly.

But as the porters carried the stretcher and the boys' bags off the train, amid the crowds flowing off of multiple trains, a little old man in a black suit, tall hat, and long beard hurried up.

"What is it the matter with my friend Joshua Smith?" he asked anxiously.

"Pops!" said Heyes in the loudest voice he could manage, barely above a whisper, so hoarse he was hard to understand, "Pops . . . Havel! Where can we go on . . . Hester Street, Pops, or near it? We got to have a place to stay. Not my new place and not Jim's place. My friend here, Jones, and I, we need a place to stay for a day or two. No one can know. We can pay."

The little orthodox Jewish man, realizing that something very serious was happening, came close to Heyes and whispered in his heavy accent, "My friend Maxie, he has an empty room. Not very nice it is, but quick and cheap. And we keep it quiet. I take you there." A porter hailed a pair of cabs that would hold Heyes, the Kid, the little man, and the luggage. Quickly, before people realized what was happening, the little entourage vanished into the cabs. The Kid liberally passed around tips, hoping to insure silence from all of these people who knew too much. When they got to Hester Street, Pops Havel's friends soon had Heyes in his litter up one flight of steps to a tiny, dark room. The Kid handed out more tips – more money for silence.

There was a one small bed in the dirty little room and a single empty chest. There was only a single small window. It wasn't much but they were able to put Heyes on the bed. When Heyes was reasonably settled, the Kid went back downstairs. He stepped out into the unfamiliar Yiddish-speaking crowds on the street. He found a boy who spoke English and entrusted him with a note to Dr. Leutze, and a liberal tip.

"Dr. Leutze

Joshua Smith is very sick and shot but alive. Watch out for Teasdale Gang – they know about you and Joshua. They are two tall men with black beards. We shot them both, but they are alive. We are hiding. We need help. We can't risk writing down where we are. We can't risk a hospital. Will be in touch when we can.

Thaddeus Jones"

Pops Havel and his friend Maxie brought food and drink to the Kid and Heyes and made sure that they were as well provided for as they could be. They refused to take any money for their services, despite their obvious poverty. That night the Kid slept on a thin mattress they brought and laid on the floor of the dirty little room on Hester Street. And Joshua shivered and twitched and raved in the bed with a raging fever.

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By the next day, Heyes' breathing was terribly noisy. He sweated and thrashed - he still had a high fever. He couldn't remain where he was without help or he would soon be dead. The Kid looked at him and knew that being arrested was not the worst thing that could happen to them. Heyes, momentarily lucid but barely able to speak, gasped out to the Kid where he thought they could find help. They didn't dare go to the Leutze clinic after what the Teasdales had said.

The Kid, lost in the crowded Manhattan Streets, finally found Columbia University less from Heyes' incoherent directions than from the help of multiple strangers. He picked out a young man dressed in an immaculate overcoat that suggested to Curry that he must be a student at this prestigious institution. The Kid tapped him on the shoulder, "I'm looking for Professor Homer's office – Charles Homer - do you know where his office is? He teaches math . . . Would he be there?" The student was startled by the odd man accosting him. The student stared at the man in a muddy, bloody shearling coat, cowboy boots, and a battered brown cowboy hat. There was a pistol on his hip. But then, it was New York City, the home of many strange sights and stranger people. So while the young man stared, he didn't call the authorities.

"Yes, sir! I major with Professor Homer," said the young student, drawing a confused look from the Kid, who had no idea of a major outside of the army. "His office is over in that brick building across Madison Avenue, up on the second floor, room 213. I don't know if he's there now. He's teaching winter session, but classes don't start until next week."

"Thanks!" said the Kid and took off running, with the curious student looking after him at this vision out of a dime western novel. Curry was thinking that he just had to be in time . . . in time for what, he hardly dared to think about. And the professor had better be there.

The Kid ran in the door of the impressive gothic building, ran up the stairs to the second floor, and into the hall. He looked for the room numbers and figured out which way he needed to go. He dodged through a crowd of loitering students and arrived at room 213 to find the door just opening and a tall, slender gray-haired man coming out with a briefcase in his hand. "Are you Professor Homer?" asked the Kid. He

"Yes, I am. What can I do for you?" The professor looked curiously at the Kid but didn't say anything about his out-of-place rig.

"I . . . um . . . do you know Joshua Smith? A student here?" asked the Kid, consumed with anxiety.

"Sure I know Smith – he's my best student – the best I've ever had in twenty-five years of teaching - and I haven't heard from him. He was supposed to be in touch by now. Do you know what's happened?" asked Professor Homer, who sounded pretty anxious himself.

"'Fraid I do . . ." began the Kid

"Afraid?" interrupted the professor. "What's happened to Smith? And for that matter, what's happened to you? Are you hurt? And who are you?"

"Can we talk - in private?" Kid looked toward the professor's office – he was terrified that when he said what he had to say, the Professor would turn them both in, or just not help. The professor looked pretty dubious – what might this dusty, bloody young man with a gun on his hip do in private?

"I've got to go!" said the professor, pulling out his gold pocket watch and taking a quick step down the hall. "I've got a meeting and I'm late now. Can it wait?"

"No, it damn well can't!" the Kid almost yelled, and then his voice dropped to a desperate whisper "He'll die if he doesn't get help - now!"

The professor's eyes opened wide. He opened his office door and ducked through, beckoning to the Kid to follow, and then closed the door. "Alright, what is it? What the hell are you and what's happened to Smith – and to you?"

"I'm his partner, Thaddeus Jones. Did he ever mention me?"

The Professor nodded. He had heard some about Jones, but very little about any of Joshua's western life. "Yes, he's mentioned you. Said you run a saloon in Colorado – what are you doing here? And what happened? Looks like you're hurt."

"Yeah, but it's ain't bad – just a bullet across the side of the arm. Joshua's been shot, too, real bad. I've got to get him to a doctor and we need help from someone we can trust. Joshua said he'd trust you with his life – and mine – an' that's just what we got to do. He's shot in the hip – he's lost an awful lot of blood and he's sick too – he's real bad off." pleaded the Kid. "You got to help us!"

"Christ!" exclaimed the professor. "What on earth? Why didn't you just go to the hospital? . . . Can't Doctor Leutze help?" asked the Professor "He'd know just who can help. I know where the nearest hospital is, but I don't know anyone there."

"We can't let anyone see us, or we couldn't. Now that he's so bad . . . I don't guess it matters none. If he don't get help, he'll die. We think the clinic might be watched," said the Kid. He realized that the Professor wouldn't know what he was talking about and dared to take some precious time to explain. "We . . . stopped some real rough Wyoming guys from murdering a bunch of people in Colorado and they . . . didn't like it much. They ambushed us on the train. I shot at least one of them and Joshua, sick as he is, got the other - and Joshua pushed them off the train. But they weren't hurt bad and they said they'd be headed this way. They know about Joshua and Leutze's place. They must have found out about a telegraph I sent – I was too careless. I sent a note to warn Leutze, but couldn't tell him where we went – in case anyone else saw the note. I got to be more careful now. The guys from Wyoming know me, so I can't go there.

But first, we got to get Joshua to a doctor. Can you come and help me? I don't know New York City, so I don't know where the hospital is. And Joshua's too sick to tell me if he knows where it is. A guy at the train station helped me to get him in a cab and get him to a place where he could hide and try to heal up. But he ain't healin' – he's gettin' worse. And I can't get him anywhere by myself with this bum arm. He's way too bad off to walk." The Professor looked probingly at "Thaddeus Jones." As the Kid realized, Professor Homer would by now, from the newspaper headlines, be pretty sure of who he really was and therefore who Joshua Smith really was as well. But there was no time for names and revelations – only for action.

"Let's go!" The professor dropped his brief case and opened the door. As they hurried down the hall the professor shouted to a secretary in an office they passed that he had to go out and had to miss his meeting. With the weary Kid straining to keep up with Professor Homer's long strides the Professor asked "Where is . . . um . . . Smith? We'll need a cab. "

The Kid was relieved that the professor was a practical fellow and could work out the details. "He's at a room on Norfolk Street – didn't dare use his own room – could be watched, too. Number 124 Norfolk Street, up on the second floor."

The professor hailed a cab and after what seemed an interminable, tense, worried ride they were at Norfolk Street. During the ride, the professor had stared hard at the Kid, but didn't dare say anything that could be a problem if the driver overheard it, and the ride over cobblestone streets was too noisy to talk in anything other than a shout.

They got out and went up two flights of narrow stairs to a small door. The Kid knocked loudly, four times as a signal. Heyes' voice came back, faintly, hoarse and slurred as if he had been drinking, "Who' zat? I got the door covered!"

"It's me - with Professor Homer!" shouted the Kid back. "We've got a cab out front to take you to the hospital. Put the gun down so we can come in, Joshua." He tried to remind Heyes to keep up their aliases, at least with a door between them and the possibility of being over heard on the landing. There were tenement dwellers close all around them, doing sweat shop labor behind their doors. But the Kid's subtle warning did no good – Heyes was too out of it to catch the hint.

"Tha' you, Kid?" Heyes' voice was a faint croak, slurred even worse. Professor Homer gave the man next to him a sharp look – but this just confirmed what he already knew.

"'Course it's me! Let us in, damn it! Put the gun down!" shouted the Kid in exasperation and terrible worry.

"Alright. Come . . . " Heyes' voice was so soft they could hardly hear it. They heard a sharp rap which might have been Heyes' gun dropping to the floor. The way his voice had trailed off had the Kid and Professor Homer both worried that he might have passed out – or worse. The Kid fumbled in his pocket and finally fished out a key. He opened the door cautiously, afraid that the delirious Heyes might shoot him. In the dim, shuttered room Curry lit a lamp. By its light they saw Heyes lying on a tiny bed in a tangle of bedclothes. His gun lay on the floor where they could see that it had fallen from his limp right hand. Heyes looked as awful as he had sounded –a blood-spotted bandage bound around his hips where his wound had reopened from his fevered thrashing, his face pale and his dark hair tangled and dripping with sweat. His eyes barely opened as Curry and the professor entered.

"Christ almighty, Smith, what happened to you?" asked the professor and knelt down as he got out his handkerchief to wipe Heyes' brow.

"Sorry prof," Heyes gasped, so hoarse he could scarcely speak and fighting to remain conscious, "'fraid your prize student is nothin' but a gun-shot old outlaw – about done for." Heyes' eyes closed and his head fell back onto the bed limply. The Kid leapt to the bed side, where he leaned over and listened to Heyes' heart.

"He's alive, but his heart's awful faint and racy." said the Kid anxiously. "We got to get him to the hospital right now."

The professor bundled up Heyes with a blanket from the bed to keep the cold out and took him gently in his arms. The professor was strong and long-armed enough to carry Heyes down the stairs, which the Kid couldn't with his hurt arm. The Professor raced down the stairs with his precious armload of outlaw. He said to the Kid, "So you're Kid Curry – and he's – he's Hannibal Heyes, the criminal mastermind! Despite the newspapers, he's not slain after all!"

"Wha'd ju call me?" Heyes opened one eye and spoke in a dull, hoarse whisper, but he still sounded kind of pleased at this new title.

"Shut up, Heyes! You're too weak to talk, remember?!" barked the Kid. "Professor, you'll keep that under your hat, I hope! Unless you want Heyes and me dead – or in the Wyoming Territorial Prison for the rest of our lives – if Heyes lives." The Kid tried to look dangerous, but not dangerous enough to make the professor turn against him. Heyes had passed out again and lay limp in his teacher's arms.

The professor paused as got to the street door and waited for the Kid to open it. "You can count on me, Mr. Jones, to keep your real names to myself. Smith is right about me. You can trust me. But, you two have gone straight, right? I mean, even before Smith got here to New York. I follow Wyoming news closely and it seemed like we didn't hear much out of your for a couple years before Smith got here. I mean other than the rumors that you'd gone straight, and a couple of robberies that at first were supposed to be yours, and then were cleared up with some other names on them. 'Cept that Lodge Grass job last month, and I assumed someone else pulled it – it wasn't slick enough for you."

"Yeah, Professor, we been straight for almost four years now. We're going for amnesty. And we never robbed stages." The Kid said, "But we got to get Heyes to the hospital. When he's well, he can tell you all about it. You know how he loves to talk." The professor raised his eyebrows. In fact, his student Joshua Smith had usually held his tongue all too much for the professor's taste. With company who really knew him, evidently the laconic Joshua Smith became a very much more talkative Hannibal Heyes.

Together the Kid and the professor got into the waiting cab, the unconscious Heyes cradled across their laps, and set off for the hospital.

When they got there, they didn't have to wait too long for a doctor to see Heyes.

The doctor, a serious young man named Doctor Turner, had a quick look at Curry's arm and got a nurse to patch it up. Then he and a pair of nurses did what they could for Heyes. After nearly an hour, Turner came out of the room, wiping Heyes' blood from his hands. He spoke to Jones and Homer in his office. "Gentlemen, your friend, hmn, Smith, has pneumonia. And a bad bullet wound in the hip. It isn't infected, thank goodness, and I was able to get the bullet out safely. But he's lost an awful lot of blood and he's very weak. Before we keep him here and maybe endanger the other patients, answer me one question, Mr. hmn – Jones. Is your real name Teasdale?"

"No!" answered Curry. "It ain't. Do I look like I've shaved off a full black beard lately?"

The doctor looked at the blonde man before him and smiled. He hadn't had time to read the details in the newspapers, but he had heard the headlines shouted at him on his way into work that morning, "No, you do not. Well then, I can guess your name. And your friend's name, assuming that the press got their news just slightly wrong – I hope. Our medical oath says 'First, do no harm.' I won't turn you in - so long as you take him away as soon as you can. I don't want to put other patients in danger. And we've put him in a private room – can you pay for that?"

"I can," answer Professor Homer before the Kid could speak. "He's my friend."

"Alright! We'll keep Mr. . . . Smith safe as long as we can. I won't turn him in, although I can't guarantee that no one else in the hospital will. We will minimize the number of people who see or know about him. I'll warn you gentlemen if any danger arises or he needs to be moved. Is that satisfactory?"

"That's more than satisfactory, Dr. Turner!" said the Kid. "We're in your debt."

"We are that, Doctor," agreed Professor Homer.

The Kid and Professor Homer stayed for a few hours, watching over Heyes and fearing the worse. Heyes fretted with a high fever that came down only very slowly under treatment. His harsh breathing remained so shallow that they could hardly believe he would make it through the night. But finally the doctors sent them away, saying that they could hardly do the patient any good and were only tiring out his wounded partner. They stationed a burly male nurse to watch the patient's door.

Curry and Homer went to Professor Homer's apartment, where his wife, Marie, fixed them a good dinner and made Curry comfortable in their guest bed. The professor insisted on sharing his guest's real name with his wife, who accorded the Kid respect, but no evident fear.

The Kid was back at the hospital to see Heyes early the next morning. Heyes was still unconscious but his breathing had eased some. At noon the Kid went back to Homer's place to rest for an hour or so while the professor watched his prize student's room.

Curry returned that afternoon. He went in to check on his partner. Hearing Curry come in, Heyes opened his eyes. "How're you doing, partner?" The Kid inquired softly.

Heyes coughed horribly and had to catch his breath before he could speak. Finally, in an achingly hoarse voice, he asked, "Kid, how's the arm?"

"It's patched up fine, but I asked how you are, Heyes." the Kid insisted, but he got no answer. Heyes had lost consciousness again. Curry wiped his partner's damp brow. Curry went to sit on a ladder-back chair outside the door to guard Heyes. The doctors wouldn't turn them in. But Heyes was vulnerable to many dangers still.


	12. Chapter 12

Beth Warren arrived at the hospital later that day, in search of Heyes' room. Professor Homer had communicated with the Leutze clinic about the troubles their former patient faced. Beth found a young blonde man who could only be Kid Curry seated outside of a door she guessed must be Heyes'. The Kid was half asleep with a newspaper in his lap. He was far from fully recovered from his own exhaustion and his wound. Beth woke him in a soft voice, "Excuse me." The Kid woke up suddenly and resisted the urge to draw his gun as he normally did when woken suddenly on guard duty. "Are you – um – Thaddeus Jones?" Beth asked.

"Yes, ma'am," said the Kid, standing and tipping his brown cowboy hat carefully with his left hand. He looked at the visitor curiously. He was pretty sure that he knew who she was and he hoped that he was right.

"I'm glad to meet you. Your partner told me some good things about you. I'm Elizabeth Warren – I used to tutor him, at the clinic." Beth went on in a whisper. "I know who you are. He told me who he was and who you were. Don't worry. I won't cause you any problems. I just want to help."

The Kid looked at her intently and she looked back with frank appraisal. So this was the famous deadly gunman – and also her friend "Joshua's" best friend and little cousin. Whatever else he was, he was a very handsome man. She could also see that he was very tired right now and was staying faithfully on guard duty when he would rather have been comfortably asleep in a good bed.

"How is he?" she asked. "And how are you? I read the note you sent to the clinic. And I heard what Professor Homer told Dr. Leutze. Neither one of you was very specific. I'm worried."

The Kid looked around and made sure there was no one to overhear him. "I couldn't tell you too much in the note – someone else could have read it. I'm not hurt bad – bullet went right across the arm and the nurse bandaged it up for me just fine," the Kid said, uneasily, pointing at his bandaged arm in a sling. He wasn't at all sure of how much he could tell Miss Warren. She looked really upset at the thought of the bullets that had been flying. "My partner, well, that's another matter. He took a bullet in the hip, lost a lot of blood, and he already had pneumonia. The fever just won't break. Truth to tell, I'm worried, too."

Beth looked at the Kid's worried face with rising anxiety. "What on earth happened? What's this in the news about a gun fight? They said he was dead!"

Curry looked at Beth for a moment, wondering how much he could trust her. He spoke in a very soft voice, watching to make sure that no one came near to overhear him. "Teasdale gang, ma'am. One of the worst gangs in Wyoming. They were about to murder some customers in my place and Heyes, he wouldn't let that happen. Heyes just up and ordered them off and darned if they didn't do what he said. They didn't take to it real well, though. We rode out of there fast and those boys were on our trail pretty quick. Heyes' horse took him under too low a branch, knocked him into a mountain stream, got him real sick real fast. He couldn't ride much after that. We caught a train east. The Teasdales caught up to us on the train and we had us a little set to. I shot one of the Teasdales and Heyes shot one of them and threw them off the train - he shoots pretty good even sick. But they said they'd follow us to Leutze's place. Could show up any time. You tell those folks to be real careful! Call the police if they need 'em."

Beth's mouth opened in amazement. Her hard-working student was quite the hero – not just an outlaw, it seemed. At least, that was what his partner said. "You look like you could use some rest, too. Why don't you go get some sleep at Professor Homer's place and let me watch him for a while?"

"Frankly, ma'am, I don't know how my partner would feel about that. You had a big fight last spring, didn't you?" Curry wanted to trust this woman, but wasn't sure that he could.

"Yes, we had a disagreement. That was when he told me who he is. I don't exactly know a lot of outlaws, even reformed ones. But I've had a long time to think about it, and it seems to me that I was wrong to leave him. I'd like to help him in any way I can – if you and he will let me. And please call me Beth." Beth tried to be as humble as she could. She knew that westerners often saw eastern academics as arrogant and that was the last thing she wanted Kid Curry to think about her.

"That's up to my partner, M – Beth. We'll see what he says. When he's strong enough to talk – which he ain't right yet. And you can call me Jed, if you like. You can see him, I guess. But don't wake him if he's sleepin' – he's gotta get his rest. He's awful, awful sick." Curry opened his partner's hospital room door cautiously and looked in. Heyes was still asleep, his breath rasping terribly. Curry gestured Beth in, putting his finger to his lips.

Beth crept in, careful not to wake the sleeping man. She blinked back tears, fearing she might lose this man before he could even know that she had returned to him. Heyes twitched and called out wordlessly in a fever. Beth gently wiped his brow with a damp cloth that lay on his bedside table. Heyes' eyes rolled slowly opened. He tried to say something, but nothing audible came from his lips. Beth thought he might have been trying to say her name. "I'm back," she said softly. "I won't leave you ever, ever again – unless you want me to." His eyes met hers for so brief a moment that Beth was uncertain if he had even known her, much less understood what she had said. Heyes' eyelids drifted closed. His loud breathing was unsteady. Beth was terrified that he was failing, but then the steady rasping resumed. Beth crept out the door again.

"How is he?" asked the Kid, the fear plain in his voice.

"Not good. He opened his eyes for a second. Then he fell asleep again. He's still feverish. He's so weak!"

The Kid took no comfort from this. "Damn! Sorry, M - Beth. I keep waiting for him to get better. Being in a hospital ought to help. At least he ain't gettin' worse. I don't know. I just don't know."

Beth burst into tears. "Oh, Jed, he's so weak! I left him! How could I do it? I love him so much! I wrote to him and told him that! Did the letter get there?"

"It's alight," whispered the Kid. He held Beth and rocked her gently while she shook with tears. He just hoped his partner would live long enough to know that that the woman he loved truly loved him, too. The letter with her statement of love must have been the one that was ruined, but the Kid didn't tell Beth that. She had enough pain to deal with right now.

As Beth settled down some, the Kid asked Beth about her sick aunts and how it was that she was back in New York. She told him that her Aunt Sadie had died and that Beth's sister Barbara was caring for their Aunt Bertha at her home in West Virginia. So Beth was home again and back working at the clinic.

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Beth was back early the next morning and found Heyes' partner on duty again. He gave Miss Warren a warm smile. "The fever broke last night."

"Thank God!" breathed Beth. "Is he up to seeing me, do you think?"

The Kid smiled. "I do think so, Beth. I think it would do him good to see you."

Curry knocked gently on the door and used his partner's alias, since he had to raise his voice to be heard through the door. "Joshua, you got a visitor. You awake?" There was a pause.

"I am now." Heyes' raspy and slightly irritated voice came softly through the door. "Who is it?"

"Beth Warren. She really wants to see you. You up to seein' her?" Curry called back.

There was silence for a long moment. Beth was afraid that Heyes would refuse to see her. "Alright," he croaked at last.

Beth slipped in to see Heyes lying in the hospital bed. He was unshaven, his hair was in disarray, and it seemed to her that a network of new lines had appeared on his face in the months since they had parted so bitterly. He looked very tired and the tension in his jaw told her that he was in pain. His nose was red and drippy and he dabbed at it now and then with a very used handkerchief. He raised one eyebrow at her in question, but didn't say anything at first.

Beth found it hard to begin, "I was here yesterday – do you remember?" Heyes nodded, but didn't speak. Beth went on "I heard about what happened to you. Your partner sent a note to the clinic. I had to come. I – I was very upset to know you'd been hurt and to see how sick you are. And I'm sorry for how I hurt you myself. It was wrong for me to leave you. If I can do anything to make that up to you, I'd be very glad to do it. If you don't want to see me, I understand. But I'd so much rather have the chance to help. I want to stay with you – if you'll put up with me."

Heyes looked at her for a long moment and she could hear the rasp of his breath. He was still a very, very sick man. When he finally spoke, his voice was so hoarse that it hurt her to hear it, "Then maybe you can . . . understand how I feel about what I did - before. I just want to make things as right as I can, now." And hearing this, Beth did feel like she understood a bit better. When she had first found out who Heyes was, she had felt that he was lying to her and that he was still an outlaw who was just adding a BA to his qualifications for reasons she couldn't fathom. Now she understood that he really had left his old criminal ways behind and was trying to make up for the harm he had caused. When a gang had threatened peaceful people, Heyes had taken the side of the law rather than the outlaws. He had risked his life to save people. He really was on the right side, now.

"Yes, I think maybe I do see - some. If you'll let me be - your friend - again, that would make me very happy," Beth said.

Heyes smiled just a little. He croaked out, "Sure, Beth. I'd like that. Actually, I'd like that a whole lot."

"Really? After I left you?" Beth could hardly believe that this man was willing to just take up again as if nothing had happened."

Heyes gazed at her with sad eyes, knowing that what he had to say would hurt her, even as he invited her into his life again, "Honey, I've ridden off and left so many ladies behind . . . I wouldn't want to tell you how many. I never even turned and looked back at any of them. But you – you came back! That's all I ever wanted – that and for you not to turn us in. So, as long as you stay, I'm fine."

"Thank you! Um . . . what do you want me to call you? Hannibal?" Beth felt out of her depth with this man, trying to figure out what their relationship would be now.

Heyes chuckled hoarsely and his voice squeaked a bit as he struggled to speak. "Nobody ever calls me that – well, almost nobody. Women call me Heyes just like men do. I like it." He grinned at her. But then he had to cough a couple of times.

"How are you, Heyes?" Beth tried out his real name. She liked how he looked at her when she said it. Despite how sick he was, his eyes sparkled playfully.

"Oh fair to middl'n," said Heyes jauntily, but then he coughed hard and admitted, "Oh, who am I foolin'? I feel awful. I'm weak as a kitten, I've got a sore throat that would kill my horse, and this hip throbs so bad . . . But I guess I'm getting better." He stopped to cough a few times into his filthy handkerchief. "I'd better not talk anymore," he gasped. He coughed a few times into his handkerchief and took a gulp from a glass of water on the table beside his bed.

Beth looked at him with concern, but she doubted that his life was in danger. He was just very uncomfortable. "You do look pretty miserable. Couldn't you do with some morphine for that hip?"

"No!" Heyes said quickly. He almost choked and went into a coughing fit. When he could speak again he explained, "I can't do that – with that drug in me I might say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Could give the Kid away – I've done it before - the first time I got shot in the head. Don't dare take the chance again."

"Alright, my brave outlaw. You just try to rest and feel better." Beth drew close to Heyes and he could see that she intended to give him a kiss.

"I'm awful sick. Don't want you to catch it," Heyes sounded hoarser than ever.

"I don't care. You need a kiss and you're going to get one." Beth's eyes were sparkling at Heyes and he obliged her with pleasure. A moment later the Kid looked in, wondering if he should get Beth to leave before she tired Heyes out too much. The Kid blushed and shut the door. He had seen Heyes with a lot of women over the years, but he'd never seen his partner kiss anyone quite like that. Brought together at last, their passion for each other was frantically unleashed at last. Even as sick as he was, it didn't surprise the Kid that much that Heyes had found the energy to let Beth know exactly how he felt.

When Beth came out a few minutes later, flushed and smiling in pleasure and embarrassment, the Kid stopped her. "So Heyes is lettin' you stay and be his gal?"

"I guess so," Beth said. "He couldn't say much, with that throat."

The Kid chuckled. "There's more ways to talk than with your voice, ain't there?" said the Kid, who really did sound relieved. "He sure could use a good gal. He's never really had a close gal for long. It's awful hard when you're on the run. If you care about someone, you don't want to stick around and put them in danger. If you'd stand by him the way Cat stands by me . . ."

Beth looked the Kid in his beautiful blue eyes, "That's getting way ahead of things. I'll do my best. I have a lot to learn. If you could help me to understand what he needs, I'd be very grateful."

"I'd be happy to help you out, though I got to warn you, I'm not much of a talker," the Kid said, not for the first time. Beth smiled back at him.

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Later that day, Heyes felt a bump on his hospital bed. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Professor Homer sitting on the bed looking thoughtfully at him.

"So you're Hannibal Heyes. I'm not sure what to make of that," Heyes academic advisor and mentor said to him. For the first time, Homer saw a look of angry defiance in the eyes of his student. And perhaps behind that – fear.

"Well, Prof, what are you going to do about it?" Heyes said fiercely, struggling to speak through a painful throat. He had to stop and cough. "I'm helpless here, Professor Homer." He gasped, "I can't even walk. I know – I tried and I fell. A pair of nurses had to drag me back up here into the bed. I couldn't even help them. And they won't let me have my gun. So you can do whatever you like. If the Kid interferes, they can arrest him, too."

The Professor stared at his student in shock. "I've never seen you like this! What makes you think I'd turn you and the Kid in? What have I ever done to make you think I would destroy your lives like that? Haven't I always helped you all I could?"

Heyes coughed again and nodded, "Yes, and I'm grateful, Professor. But now you know that I was lying to you. I was lying to everyone. Now you know who I am – what I am. How can we just go on like I was an honest man?"

"I won't turn you in, Heyes, unless you prove that we really can't trust you. I've always trusted you to be a good student and a good man. I've always trusted you to work hard. And I still do – you've lived up to every expectation and much more. I promise – I won't turn on you unless you turn on me first. But you still look mad – what I am doing to hurt you?"

"You're sitting on my bed, damn it, Charlie! Every time you move a muscle, it shakes the bed and hurts this damn hip! Could you please go sit on a chair?" Heyes grinned as Professor Homer jumped up like he'd sat on a hot stove. He started to laugh at Heyes, who tried to resist laughing with him. Laughing hurt both his throat and his hip!

"Alright, Heyes. The Kid says the Teasdales could be getting to New York any time. They could find you here in the hospital. So you and the Kid come and live with Marie and me for a while. Alright?"

Heyes could not speak – he only nodded. It was hard to tell if the tears in Heyes' eyes were because he was coughing so hard or because he was so grateful to his man who just asserted that he would trust Hannibal Heyes as much as he had trusted Joshua Smith.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooo

That night they moved Heyes to Professor and Mrs. Homer's apartment under cover of darkness. Dr. Turner was just as glad to have the fugitive out of his care, although he loaded Heyes and his friends down with free medicine and exacting directions and advice. Heyes was getting better now, but he still required a lot of care.

The next day Dr. Leutze left the clinic early to see his former patient at Dr. Homer's place. Heyes might be nearly cured of aphasia, but Dr. Leutze remained his friend always. Leutze sat by Heyes' bed and looked sadly at the sick, wounded man. "I'll never forget the day you told me who you really are. Or, more accurately, when I learned what your name is – since you weren't speaking yet. It seems like the work of lifetime to learn all the parts of you, Heyes."

The reformed outlaw looked thoughtfully back at his mentor, stifling a cough. "It's taking me a while, too, Doc." said Heyes, his voice cracking from the effort to talk with such a painfully raw throat. "I never would have guessed I'd ever go to college."

Leutze chuckled. "Actually, the first time I saw you, I started to wonder if there might be a scholar hidden under that moth-eaten cowboy hat. But who among your college friends would ever have guessed that you'd face down a pair of outlaws and get shot into the bargain? While you might leave outlawry behind, heroism seems to follow you. Jim thinks you about hung the moon."

Heyes grinned at the familiar western phrase in that learned eastern mouth. "He's a good kid. A good man, I should say. With all he's been through, he never lets it get him down. When I was out west, I never realized how tough city boys could be. I wish he'd come see me." Heyes had to stop talking and take a drink of water.

The doctor smiled. "I'll let him know that. He was thinking that you might still be mad at him – for being mad at you." Heyes shook his head and took another drink of water. "You look tired, Heyes. I think I'd better let you alone now. But I'll be back to see you, soon."

"Thanks, Doc!" Heyes smiled at his friend and mentor as he left

"You take it easy, alright Heyes? I know how rapidly you get restless and impatient – just let yourself heal!" Heyes nodded and agreed that he would try.

As Leutze left Heyes' side, he passed Beth coming into the apartment with a bunch of red roses that she tried in vain to hide. Leutze stopped his employee, and friend. "Didn't I warn you about him? He's still not safe to know, but I think it's too late to warn you any longer."

Beth blushed. "I hope you don't mind, Doctor."

Leutze replied, "Of course not! That's your business, both of you. But that cowboy of yours is pretty tired and hoarse – take it easy on him. He's not that far out of the woods, you know."

Heyes, hearing her voice, called out, "Beth?" then he was caught up in a siege of coughing.

Beth went to sit by his bed. "Heyes, are you up to a visit? Dr. Leutze says you still aren't very well. I brought you something. But I can go, if you aren't up to a visit."

Heyes laughed hoarsely, "Don't you dare go away again! Are those what I think they are?"

Beth blushed even redder, and suddenly seemed very shy, "Yes, Heyes. I brought you roses. Red ones. I don't know what they mean out west, but I know what they mean here. The Kid asked me if I was your gal and I wasn't sure if I could say yes."

Heyes smiled encouragingly at her, his eyes bright, "I know what red roses mean. The word starts with an L, teacher. You can be my gal if you really want to."

"Please!" Beth felt a bit silly courting this wounded outlaw with flowers, but it seemed to be working.

Heyes looked serious. He struggled to speak – what he had to say was important to him. "Are you sure? You see what happens to me all the time. I try to go straight and then my dirty past catches up with me. Sometimes it brings a gun. Some things I can't leave behind. And I don't know if you understand that I don't want to change everything. I'm no choir boy, myself."

Beth looked serious as she considered this speech, but then she smiled and winked at Heyes, "Good thing, cause I don't want a choir boy. I want you, you wicked man."

Heyes smiled at her gladly. "Then you're my gal and I'm your man. As long as you can put up with me."

Beth smiled and blushed more. "You know I've loved you, Heyes, since the moment we met. But I never knew you loved me – until yesterday. That was kind of hard to miss even if you didn't say the word. When did you start to feel that way?"

Heyes felt a bit uncomfortable. He couldn't lie and say he had always loved Beth, because he hadn't and she knew it. He didn't want to hurt her pride as well as her heart. Then a light sprang up in his eyes. Beth, like any of Heyes friends, recognized that look – Heyes with a good idea. Or one that Heyes thought was good, anyway. He said with a self-conscious grin, "It has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began."

Beth sought for the source of the quotation for a moment and then it came to her. "Oh Heyes, I didn't know you had read _Pride and Prejudice_! But you as Elizabeth Bennett and me as Mr. Darcy will never do – it has to be the other way around!"

"Alright, Elizabeth," laughed Heyes, "If I could give you a vast estate I'd have done it long ago, darling. There's only one thing I can give you. Come here and let me give you some! I can use the sweet distraction – this throat hurts worse than the hip, even."

Beth happily, but carefully, shared a kiss with her Heyes. She didn't want to hurt him while she was trying to comfort him. In the circle of his arms, she could feel how terribly tired and weak he was. Reluctantly she told him that she had to go. But they both knew she would be back every day from now on.

On her way out, Beth found the Kid sitting on the sofa where he would be sleeping. He was looking very blue.

Beth guessed maybe she knew why he was upset. She asked the Kid. "I've been wondering – how did those men – the Teasdales – how did they find you and Heyes? How did they know to come to New York and how did they know about Dr. Leutze?"

"I've been puzzling about that, Beth," said the Kid in a low voice. "I think I've got it figured. I'm afraid it's my fault. I never knew till now how much we all depended on Heyes and his plans. I sure have messed it up when it's all up to me. If the Teasdales found our trail from where Sheriff Wilde commenced to chase them, it wouldn't have been hard to follow. I was concentrating on keeping Heyes alive, not hiding our trail. And so they could have trailed us to Dead Elk easy – we had to go slow and the trail must have been real plain. Never was any new snow to cover our trail.

And then in Dead Elk, before we got on the train, I sent a bunch of telegrams – to a couple of sheriffs we know, to my gal, and to Dr. Leutze. I remember Heyes saying once that you could learn a lot from an underpaid unhappy telegrapher. And he said it from experience - we bribed more than one in our time! The one in Dead Elk, Colorado must have been underpaid – or scared. From what I sent that day, the Teasdales could have known where we was going and when and on what train. And one of the telegraphs was to Dr. Leutze saying to expect us. They might not even know who he was, but they knew his name. They knew we'd be awful scared to hear them say that name. They were right! And once they were on the train, a little cash to a conductor or a porter would have told them we was in the caboose – a real sick man wouldn't be hard to track. They saw him fall in the stream – they'd know he had to be sick. If they're still on our trail, we – and you – had better watch out."

The Kid sudden leaned his head into his hand and fought off tears. Beth was startled by the sudden grief of this strong man, so famous for his skill with a gun. "It was all my fault!" he gasped, "I gave away our trail! And I shot him!"

"What?" Beth was shocked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I shot Heyes! I sure didn't mean to, but I did it. After I got it in the trigger arm, I fired at Grover Teasdale to save my damn fool life and I couldn't aim straight on that train shaking around all over. So I shot low and I got Heyes!" The Kid fought to get himself under control and Beth put her arm around his shoulders.

"He knows you didn't mean it, Jed. You couldn't just let that awful man kill you! And Heyes is going to be fine. You know he is. He's a tough man. Look at all the good friends he has. And he knows you're the best of the lot."


	13. Chapter 13

The Kid was sitting (carefully on a chair so he wouldn't shake the bed) near Heyes' bed at the Homer's place, and the partners were having a bit of private talk on a Sunday morning when the Homers weren't back from church yet.

"What's the news from home, Kid? What's up with Cat?" asked Heyes hoarsely.

The Kid looked very anxious, "I don't know, Heyes. I ain't dared to telegraph yet – don't want to give anything away."

"What?!" Heyes dissolved into coughing and it was a while before he could go on. The Kid had to hand him a glass of water and a fresh handkerchief. "Cat'll be wild with worry! And Lom . . . The word from the New York papers is sure to be out there by now. There's being careful, but that's just plain mean"

"I know, Heyes, I know! But after what happened with the train, I just don't dare." The Kid was so used to being careful about not being overheard that he was whispering and looking over his shoulder.

"What do you mean about the train? What happened? You know I don't recall much of it," Heyes spoke cautiously – he really didn't know much about what had happened after he had gotten sick. Everyone, including the Kid, had assumed he knew and hadn't wanted to talk about it to him.

The Kid hated to remember that time, now that he had figured out how much trouble his own actions had caused. "Heyes, you know, when we were in that little town, Dead Elk, after you got so sick."

Heyes shook his head. "Not much, Kid. I remember you found a bed for me someplace and I slept. That's about all I can remember at all. Dead Elk, was it? Never heard of it."

The Kid shook his head in regret. "It's where we caught the train East. Before we went off, while you were asleep at that little hotel, I sent telegrams to Cat, and Lom, and Sheriff Wilde, and Dr. Leutze – told them all where we were and when we were coming and on what train. Used our aliases, but it wouldn't have taken a gnat's sense to figure that out. Our trail was so easy to track in all that snow, and going slow with you so sick. Teasdales must have been laughing all the way. I feel damn bad about it, Heyes, and then I went and shot you!"

Heyes had been going to give the Kid a tongue-lashing, but now he stopped. He was really floored. He stared at the Kid in utter shock. "You what!?"

"I told you the next day, Heyes, when you asked what in the hell happened. Don't you remember at all?" Heyes shook his head, utterly appalled. "I sure didn't mean it, but it was me. It was right after I got it in the arm and the train shaking all over going around that turn – I missed my aim and I missed it bad."

"Why in God's name did you fire when you weren't sure of your aim and there was someone near the line of fire? That's against everything your Pa ever taught you!"

The Kid didn't want to make excuses, but he had to explain some. "Teasdale had his Colt aimed at my heart – only a couple yards away! And I didn't have any idea that you were anywhere near the line of fire. Nobody could find you – I heard the Teasdales asking where in the hell you were and I didn't know any more than they did. Like I say, I'm terrible sorry, Heyes. But I just had to fire. Wasn't no other way."

"Oh." Well, Heyes could see his cousin's point. And he could picture what an awful situation it had been for the Kid. He could see that the Kid felt as awful as he said he did. There was no use in being mad at his partner. "Well, don't worry about it, Kid. It's all over. You sure saved my life before that and after that, and I'm getting better now, so I guess that's just all over. But what I don't get is how you got the Teasdales off that train."

Now the Kid was startled. Heyes really didn't remember what he had done! "But Heyes, that wasn't me – it was you! I don't know how you did it, but you shot Aloysius Teasdale, and then you got the caboose door opened and tipped both of 'em out it. Saved both our lives, for sure."

Heyes couldn't speak; he was so thrown by this. He had been all heroic and didn't remember a thing about it! The Kid went on with his story. "And then there you were. A conductor came in with a lantern and asked if the gunfire was all over. He said you looked dead – lying with your eyes open, not blinking and I had to agree. It about killed me when I thought you was dead. Then I put my hand up to close your eyes – and felt you breathing. I just thanked God so often he must have gotten annoyed at me for bothering him."

Heyes had always had a horror of corpses with open eyes – and he had seen quite a number of them. It sent a shiver down his spine to think that he had lain like that and the Kid had thought he was dead. He had a feeling that he would have nightmares about the picture that story made in his mind.

Heyes shook his head and coughed hard for a few minutes. Finally he could speak, "I surely do not remember that! I'm sorry to have worried you so, Kid. And thank you – you've done an awful lot to save me, over and over since then. And I feel bad about coming and camping out with the Homers, too. Must be might inconvenient having two wanted outlaws staying with them – not many wives would put up with that. I've got a lot of folks to be grateful to, and you head the list."

The Kid looked at Heyes real hard, "Well, you may not remember it, Heyes, but you saved my life that day and almost lost yours while you were at it, so I feel more like thanking you. Again!"

Heyes waved away the Kid's heart-felt thanks. He couldn't stand to have his partner feel that indebted to him. They had, after all, saved each other's lives so often that it was impossible to keep track. There was no use in continuing to be all upset over it. They just had to go on. "Don't mention it, Kid. You sure did save my life.

But back to the telegrams – that was kind'a careless of you. But I can see how it happened – takes time to code up a telegram so it speaks only to the person who gets it. And you must'a been awful tired out. I know I was – slept right through all that time. But it does make trouble for us, now. You got to watch out for the Teasdales. Could get here any time, and you know them – no dirty trick they wouldn't stoop to."

The Kid nodded. "I do feel real bad that Cat would be worrying over us, but if the Teasdales are in town, or they got friends here – how do I know where to go send a telegram that they can't find out about?"

Heyes took a swallow of water. "I don't know, Kid. Probably they wouldn't even know where to go to find a telegraph office in Manhattan, but we can't be sure."

The Kid nodded and said, "I do hate to think of Kyle and the boys all worried, 'specially over you."

"Well now there, Kid, I think we'd better let sleeping dogs lie. Better let folks – specially at the Hole - think I'm dead. Might take some of the heat off."

The Kid sat up indignantly. "Well, you changed your tune on that! What about that time that guy was gonna' be hanged as me and you made me see what a bad thing it might be?"

Heyes at up in his turn to defend himself, "That was when I was gonna face a murder rap and you might have faced some kinda charge, too, over letting that guy hang in your stead! Totally different situation – I explained it to you at the time. But now – if folks just think I'm dead but there's no legal teeth to the situation, it could help." The Kid could see the wheels turning in Heyes' prodigious mind as he figured out who to turn the situation to their good.

"But to let Kyle and Wheat, and Lom, think you're dead?"

"I think the Devil's Hole boys are just gonna have to grieve for a while. We can't let out the truth that wide. But we got to get word to Cat soon as we can, and to Lom! Hmn. When the Professor and the Mrs. Get home, let's ask them about what might be a safe place to send a telegraph from.

But before Professor Homer and his wife got home from church, Jim Smith arrived at the apartment. He had heard that Heyes wanted to see him.

As soon as the Kid had the door opened, Jim rushed to the back of the apartment to find his former roommate. Jim knelt by the bed and stuttered, "H-heyes – I'm s-sorry I got so mad at you. You've had a lot to p-put up with for a long t-time. I guess you've made up for what you did."

"I don't know about that, Jim," Heyes responded in a raspy voice. "I don't know that anything could make up for what we've cost folks. But I'm glad you forgive me for what I did to you. I'll try to stay straight with you from now on, alright?" Jim smiled and made it clear that it was fine with him. He still couldn't quite believe that his old hero Hannibal Heyes had really been his friend for the past two years.

Jim had brought Pops Havel with him – the old man wanted to see how his hurt friend whom had known as Joshua Smith was. The old man looked a bit nervous at entering a gentile house, but not seeing crosses on every wall, he settled down some.

The old man leaned over the bed solicitously. "So Joshua, you are getting well again, even after all the gun fightings the papers talk about?"

Heyes flushed in embarrassment. Obviously even to a man who didn't speak English too well and was not too long over from the old country, it had become pretty obvious who Heyes and the Kid were. The story must be in the Yiddish papers as well as the English ones by now.

"Yes, Pops," Heyes said in his still raspy voice. "I'm healing up, with my friends looking after me. I'm a lucky guy. I'm grateful to you for finding a place for us, that first night. I wish you'd let us pay you or thank you in some way."

Pops Havel laughed like a creaky donkey. "I tell you what makes us all happy, Joshua Smith or Hannibal Heyes or whoever you are, you stop making eyes at my friend Ezra's Devora – stop worrying Ezra and his wife that you get their daughter to marry out of their faith, huh? You get nice goyishe girl and marry her, huh?"

Heyes smiled, "Yeah, Pops, I already got me a nice goyishe girl. In fact, you keep quiet about Devora, huh, my Beth she could show up any time to visit me."

"Oh!" exclaimed the Kid with awful glee in his eyes at finding this new way to tease his partner, "So Beth isn't your only New York girl? You've been chasing after nice Jewish girls, too?"

"Oh, Thaddeus, I haven't seen Devora in a long time. And we never did spend much time together. When I last saw Devora, I could hardly speak English, much less Yiddish. She is awful pretty, I got to admit. But I knew her father didn't want me to be serious, so I stayed away."

"Oh, Mr. Kid," chuckled Pops. "You should see the child – she is the loveliest girl in New York and couldn't take her eyes off this man Smith! If she knew who he is, the bad man from the West, it would break her heart!"

"Oh, Pops," moaned Heyes, "Don't you dare tell her! And you know the Kid and I've gone straight. We aren't bad men any longer. And ain't I telling you, Pops, I've got a Christian girl." All this talk really was making Heyes nervous. He didn't think that Devora had ever been serious about him, and he didn't want Beth, who could arrive at any time on this Sunday afternoon, to think he had been serious about another woman. Heyes knew that Pops was only joking , but any kind of hint of lack of faith really bothered him. After all the troubles he and Beth had had coming together, he sure couldn't stand for anything to come between them now.

The Kid asked, "Jim, Pops, do you guys know a telegraph office where we might be able to go and send word to my gal, Cat, out west? One that would keep it a real secret – not let the Teasdales or even the cops bribe them and find out what we sent?"

"Sure, K-K-Kid," answered Jim, "I know a p-p-place they'd keep the l-l-last t-t-trump a secret – f-f-for a c-c-consideration! Out in my neighborhood. I'll t-t-take you there – when we t-t-take P-P-Pops home."

The Kid sprang for a cab, to save old Pops Havel the long walk home. The Kid looked curiously around Hester Street, with its crowds of poor, black clad orthodox Jewish men, women, and children, all over the street, buying and selling from myriad push carts selling nearly everything under the sun. It was dirty and crowded, but it sure was interesting. He had hardly gotten a glimpse of it before, or paid it much mind, when Heyes had seemed to be on his death bed.

As the Kid helped Pops Havel out of the cab and Jim scrambled down, it caused a bit of a stir. Not many cabs ever came to poverty-stricken Hester Street! There were so many push carts and other little stands around that they had to stop a good block away from the little telegraph office, which put them nearer Pop's room anyhow. They got Pops to his door and the Kid thanked him again as they made sure the bent little man climbed safely up the dirty steps.

As the Kid and Jim came back down the steps, they saw and heard another commotion in the streets. They heard yelling and a piercing scream and the sound of many running feet. When they looked in the direction of the noise, the Kid felt his heart start to pound. He saw two men, taller than anyone else in the street, and far more familiar to him. It was the Teasdales, in eastern style suits, but unmistakable, on the far side of the street. Grover had a bandaged leg, and Aloysius a bandaged left shoulder. But they were both wearing their gun belts and neither one had a bullet wound in his right arm. They weren't there for the view. The burly pair was walking slowly, swaggering along, near the entrance to the building where Jim lived – they must have come looking for the Kid in this place so close to where most people still thought that Joshua Smith lived. So the Teasdales were hunting the Kid – thinking that Heyes was dead. He could only guess that someone – maybe at the Leutze Clinic – had given away the fact that Joshua Smith had used to live with Jim Smith on Hester Street.

"Down, Jim!" whispered the Kid urgently. "Listen to me!"

But Jim wouldn't listen to the Kid. Instead the slender young man darted across the street and vanished into a dark doorway nearly next to the Teasdales, who turned to watch him. The Kid had to distract them – he yelled, "Hey, you damn bastards! You want me – here I am!" That got their attention – and diverted them from Jim, and from a pretty young woman they had been harassing.

The Kid felt terribly helpless, standing there all alone in a strange place, surrounded by people who could be hurt in a gun fight. But the people around them were scattering. And the Teasdales were looking straight at the Kid.

"Kid!" yelled Grover Teasdale in his most arrogant, loudest tones. "So we got the right spot! You ain't' so good at covering your trail, Kid! Or keeping Heyes safe – did he die of the flu or did you shoot him? We didn't get him – but sure saw him there, dead!"

The Kid stared at his rivals, unsure what to do. He wasn't going to argue with them and prove that Heyes was alive. "Get out of here, you scum! The cop will get you, sure! They don't take to murderers around here!" Curry tried to delay the men – to give all the confused figures around them time and warning to get away before the shooting started. And sure enough, the crowded street was emptying – people running into doorways and vanishing into alleys.

"If they get us, they'll get you, too, Kid!" yelled Aloysius.

Curry wasn't at all sure that he could draw at more than the slowest speed, much less shoot accurately, with his injured arm still stiff and very painful. He hadn't practiced his draw since he had been shot. His arm just hurt too much and he had felt it was better to rest it. Besides, he had no safe place to practice in this crowded city.

Suddenly, the black bearded figures bent to grab for any small, defenseless figures they could find – women and children. A skinny curly-haired girl of no more than six escaped Grover, while a tiny boy even younger run between Aloysius's legs and nearly tripped him. A lovely girl dashed through a doorway, leaving her shawl in the limping Grover's hairy hands. The Kid knew with a sick certainty what the Teasdales were trying to do. They were trying to get themselves human shields. They were going to shoot it out with him, but as dirty as they could.

The Kid couldn't wait. He had to strike before the Teasdales, slowed by their bandaged wounds, could catch a skinny poor child each. His draw might be so slow that he would be dead before he could squeeze the trigger of his Colt, since neither Teasdale had an injured arm. But he couldn't wait. Aloysius had nearly chased down a limping fat grandmother with a baby in her arms. Jim popped out of a doorway, dashing for the baby, yelling at the top of his lungs. Aloysius turned to him – away from the helpless grandmother and his screaming grandson.

Three gunshots roared in the confines of the street, echoing between the tenement buildings. Shrieks echoed all around. The Kid collapsed to the ground. Jim ran up to him. "Kid! Are you alright?"

The Kid looked up, "Forget me!" he said in a low voice, clutching his arm and cringing in an agony of fear to see the results of his shots. "Is the baby alright? The woman? And you?"

"B-b-baby's fine, K-K-Kid. So's his nana. I'm fine. Everyone's fine – except those murderers! But you're hit!" gasped Jim, out of breath from his dash across the street.

"I'm fine, just hurting in the arm," whispered the Kid between gritted teeth. One of the Teasdales had shot him in the wrist. But he looked down at the wound and realized that it wasn't more than a graze – painful, but not dangerous. Drawing his gun with his hurt arm had hurt nearly as much. But what about the Teasdales? With Jim's help, the shaken Kid got to his feet. He was quickly across the street.

The Teasdales lay twitching side by side in the dusty street. The Kid stood to look at the men he had shot. Slowly they stopped twitching and lay still, bleeding only a little. Each Teasdale had taken a bullet right between his eyes.

But the Kid felt no satisfaction in his precise shooting. He felt relief – no one had been killed except a pair of murderers. But that made the Kid a killer – yet again. And he might go down for murder. He didn't know which way to go or what to do.

A skinny man, pale with fear, approached the Kid, speaking in a thick accent. "Mr., that was mother and son you safed. They live because of you! What can I do for thanks?"

The Kid shook his head. He didn't want thanks. He felt sick. A tall orthodox man with some grey coming into his long black beard approached. "Mr. Curry, you get out of here now," he urged. "The cops be here any minute. You be gone – no one will remember you were here, or where you went. Jim, get him out of here a quiet way." The Kid saw a pair of quickly emptied pushcarts approaching with a little crowd of men each. Each cart quickly acquired unaccustomed cargo and a rough blanket covered the dead man on each. Men pushed the carts rapidly creaking away. The tall man – some kind of leader here – went on, "The bodies will be gone – in the river – no one will know what happened. The blood – we will wipe up, or cover with chicken blood. You are safe, sir. You saved our children. Get gone, now!"

And the Kid, not knowing what else to do, just nodded and followed as Jim led him through a complex of allies. In minutes, the Kid would not have been able to figure out his way back to where they had come from. He was never sure quite how he got back to Professor Homer's place. He climbed the steps. Jim pounded on the door and yelled for help – they had to get the Kid out of sight. Mrs. Homer opened the door and let the bleeding Kid in. He stumbled down the hall and he collapsed onto the sofa where he had been sleeping. It was over – or the Kid sure hoped it was. If the people of Hester Street kept their words, the Kid and Heyes and their friends might be safe. But if not – or if the betrayal at the Leutze Clinic went deeper – they might all be in danger.


	14. Chapter 14

"Kid," said Heyes from his bed across the Homers' now very crowded guest room, in a voice that was still pretty hoarse, "I can't believe you could draw that fast and shoot that straight, hurt like you are." He shook his head in amazement.

"Sheer terror, Heyes. Nothing else. They were after a grandmother and a baby!" Curry gasped softly as Mrs. Homer continued cleaning his new bullet graze while her husband held a basin under it to keep the blood from getting on the sofa where the Kid slept each night. Marie Homer was amazingly gentle, but it was impossible to clean the long bullet graze along the Kid's wrist and hand without causing him a little pain.

"Why did you take the head shot, Kid? It's the hardest, isn't it, so small and so likely to move? Why didn't you take the chest?" asked Charlie Homer, who had some western experience with a gun himself.

"But the Teasdales are – were – over six feet – much taller than anyone in the street. If I'd missed aiming that high, I wouldn't have likely hit anyone else," explained the Kid. Heyes nodded. He hadn't had to ask. He knew the Kid too well to have any doubts about the thinking behind that decision.

Finally, Mrs. Homer bandaged the Kid's newest wound with salve on a bit of raveled cotton held on by a long torn strip of old sheet. Professor Homer carried the bloody basin away to the kitchen to empty it. Heyes had been talking to the Kid to distract him while Mrs. Homer worked.

"There you go, Mr. Curry," said Professor Homer's round little wife as she tied off the bandage neatly, "that ought to hold you. I never thought I'd get to be expert at bandaging bullet wounds, but I sure am getting practice the last few days!" Marie Homer was a lively lady little round lady who had made no objection when her husband had brought home two outlaws. She welcomed all their oddly assorted friends with equal warmth. The boys were getting very fond of her. She had figured out how to bandage Heyes' bullet wound without hurting him or even making his blush too much. She knew just when to avert her eyes when the ticklish process of bandaging so awkwardly placed a wound threatened to expose more than his hip. It didn't hurt Mrs. Homer's standing with Heyes and the Kid that she was a superb and generous cook. Even the Kid had enough to eat at the Homers' place.

"You sure don't have to call me Mr.," said the Kid to his ministering angle. "Jed is my name, or you can call me Kid if there's no one around to hide it from. But I prefer Jed – specially from ladies."

"Fine, Jed," said Mrs. Homer, "but only if you call me Marie. Both of you boys are getting to be like family, you know. So first names all around is fine with me."

"Just so you don't call me by mine!" said Heyes quickly. "Heyes is what I prefer."

"If you insist, Heyes it is," agreed Marie Homer good naturedly. Heyes and the Kid exchanged glances – they knew how lucky they were to have such a good couple to stay with. They just worried about the danger that might come with them – from the police or all the other usual threats they always faced.

"We are mighty grateful to you both," said the Kid as their host returned. "Don't know what we can do to pay you back."

"A few stories about Wyoming or Colorado wouldn't be amiss!" laughed the professor, back from the kitchen. "But mostly, Heyes can study hard and Kid, you can get back to your home safely. That's all we want, isn't it Marie?"

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Later that evening, Marie Homer found Heyes leaned over a chair with a piece of newspaper on it that he was using to keep from making a mess as he methodically polished a pair of badly scuffed black shoes. Heyes worked quietly - the Kid had fallen asleep on the sofa just across the room.

Mrs. Homer said very softly, "I can do that, Heyes. It must be hurting your hip for you to lean over like that."

Heyes smiled gratefully at her. He replied in a low voice, hoping not to wake the softly snoring Kid. "Thank you, Marie, for the offer. But you're my . . . hostess, not my . . . servant. I can do it. I've got to start doing something besides just sitting here and reading that . . . _Arabian Nights_ book your husband gave me - or all my muscles will stop working. I feel like I'm about 110 as it is. The longer I stay idle, the worse it'll get and the harder it'll be to recover."

Mrs. Homer looked at Heyes in concern as she tried to imagine all that this handsome young man had been through in the way of violence and injury over the years, "You sound like you have some experience recovering from gun shots."

Heyes grimaced as he sat up from leaning over the shoes and his stiff hip and back muscles protested. At least it was getting easier for him to talk as his throat began to heal, "That's too true. When you've got that big a price on your head, dead or alive, the lead tends to find you. What worries me is having anyone else – like you or Charlie – get in the way of the lead. And now, with that higher reward, it's going to bring even more attention. I mean just think of it – with thirty thousand dollars a man could live for ten years with every day eight dollars and twenty-one cents, poin . . " Heyes' recitation of digits slowed down and trailed off in embarrassment as he realized how useless it was to figure up fractions of pennies for the mythical rewarded man's days, much less to actually say it out loud. "Sorry. I just mean, at least out west, you could live like a king for a long time on thirty thousand dollars."

Mrs. Homer could see from his eyes that Heyes hadn't been reciting a number he had figured up before – he had figured it up in about two seconds as she watched. She winked at Heyes indulgently, "I know what you mean Heyes. I am married to a mathematician, after all. And, by the way, I'm a mathematician, too. It's just a damn hard field for a woman to teach in! How many digits did you figure it out to?"

"Only seven," admitted Heyes sheepishly, "but it repeats after that."

Marie Homer shook her head at Heyes. "Charlie says you're amazing and he's right! But you forgot to figure in leap year, didn't you?" Heyes laughed softly and shook his head. He had met his match in Marie Homer! She went on, "I've met some people who can figure that fast in their heads, but most of them were savants. You know what a savant is?"

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, yes, Marie," Heyes knew all too well what it meant.

"But you aren't a savant." This was a statement – not hint of a question, to Heyes' relief.

"No. I understand what I'm doing." Heyes had heard himself called a savant a few times by visiting professors and grad students. He found it very insulting that people assumed that an ignorant westerner like himself who could do math so well had to be some kind of freak rather than a thinking man who understood what he was doing.

Marie nodded and looked seriously at Heyes, "You know what that means?"

Heyes nodded. "I hope so. Understanding what I'm doing makes it a bit slower, but it makes the process more useful in the end, don't you think?"

"I certainly do think!" said Mrs. Homer enthusiastically – she looked up at the Kid to make sure she hadn't woken him, and returned her voice to a lower level. She had noticed that the Kid wasn't snoring any longer. She hoped he was getting some good rest. "And that's my point – how useful it can be. How useful you can be. Charlie says you're even better at figuring out how to use math creatively than at actually using it – and that's saying something. And perhaps even better yet at explaining it all. I think that could be your future – I think it would be a great future for you – and for a lot of other people."

"Thank you!" Heyes looked down modestly to hide a brilliant smile. His ability to use his math creatively and to explain it was the thing he was proudest of in the world. No one, not even Charlie Homer, his own academic advisor, had ever said a word about the future this might promise for Heyes until this very moment. To think that Charlie had said it to his wife, but not to his own student, annoyed and baffle Heyes.

Marie had her eyes fixed firmly on Heyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Heyes?"

"Yes. I think so. I hope so. But does Charlie agree with you? That's what I want to know. I keep waiting for him to say it and he won't. I guess I'm impatient- I've haven't been studying with him that long. But I want to hear him say it – before I make up my mind and go for it. And sure before I tell anyone else. I know the Kid and everyone out West- they'd laugh hard at me if I told them what I wanted to do and couldn't back it up."

"Men!" said Marie in exasperation, "I think Charlie's waiting for you to say you want it before he tells you that you have the gifts to do it. So there you are, the two of you, like shy girls at a dance, waiting for their beaus to speak. One of you needs to come out and say it! Why don't you? You're old enough to know your own mind."

"Yeah, but I've got so little background! How do I know what it really takes to be successful? Charlie knows better than anyone! And with my aphasia better – it's better I doubt it ever will be gone - could I still do it? Am I a fool to even think it? To take the time for two degrees when the second one might never be useful?" Then Heyes sighed. "But I'm afraid that's pretty . . . academic . . . right now." He smiled at his own grim pun. "What someone really needs to come out and say right now is that the Kid and I need to get out of here before we get you both hauled off to jail. We've had friends up on aiding and abetting before and just barely managed to get them out of real prison stretches! I'm going to need crutches – do you think you could get some somehow?"

Marie's sparkling eyes quieted. "Nothing easier. Charlie broke his leg a few years ago and we still have his crutches around here somewhere. Always thought they'd come in handy one day. Never thought it would be Hannibal Heyes using them!"

Marie looked sadly at this troubled and endangered young man. He wasn't really up to walking even with crutches, but a bed-ridden man who was polishing shoes surely had walking on his mind.

As Mrs. Homer retreated to the kitchen to fix dinner, the Kid cautiously opened his eyes. So that was what Heyes wanted to keep studying for! He needed two degrees for it, did he? The Kid decided then and there that he would be devoted to helping his partner get those two degrees – no matter how much lead flew. But if Heyes didn't trust him enough to tell his own partner about his dream, then the Kid wouldn't mention it either.

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The next morning Heyes, over the objections of both the Kid and Professor Homer, decided that he had to try to get up and walk a bit. He was anxious to be up and moving, knowing the amount of danger that could be in the offing if anything went wrong surrounding the shooting of the Teasdales. They hadn't heard a peep out of the newsboys about it as the evening editions the previous day and the morning editions that day hit the streets, so they hoped that was a good sign.

The Professor was glad to lend his old crutches to Heyes. But he worried that Heyes was trying to get up too soon after taking such a serious bullet wound to the hip.

Jim wasn't there – he had gone home to keep an eye on Hester Street so he could convey news if anything worrying turned up. He would have been too small to help much, in any case, since he was so much shorter than Heyes was.

With the Kid, bandaged as he was, on Heyes' right and the Professor on the other side, they slowly boosted Heyes to his feet. Beth and Mrs. Homer watched anxiously. Heyes braced himself on the crutches and waited for his two supporters to step away. Slowly, with hands reached out in case they were needed, the Kid and the Professor stepped back to let Heyes, with the crutches, stand on his own. Heyes stood, swaying slightly, with his jaw muscles very tight. Then he took a single slow, shaky step. He looked white as a sheet. When the professor asked, "Well, Heyes?" he didn't answer for a moment.

Finally Heyes breathed, "Thanks, guys," between clenched teeth, "Enough."

The Kid reached out to support Heyes and gestured to Professor Homer to help get him to get his partner back down on the bed - fast.

"Heyes, you ain't ready and you know it." Said the Kid. "I thought you was gonna pass out!"

Heyes nodded and still had to catch his breath for a few seconds before he could speak. "Whew! You're right, Kid. Got near it. But I've got to try or I never will get walking again. The spring semester's starting in just two weeks. I got to be ready for it."

"For God's sake, Heyes!" cried the Kid in concern, "you ain't really going to try to go back to school so soon as that, are you?"

"I got to, Kid, or I'll take too much time to graduate. It's bad enough I have to miss winter session when I'd been counting on it. Besides, what would I do all semester if I wasn't in school? My sponsors – and you know those guys – they aren't paying for me to sit on my ass!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next day Dr. Leutze came by again to check on his former patient and friend. He and Professor Homer helped Heyes to get up on the crutches again and take a couple of very painful steps.

After he was back in his bed, Heyes had some serious things to tell Dr. Leutze. The whole story of what had happened with the Kid in Hester Street was still not in the newspapers, so it was all news to Dr. Leutze.

"Doctor," said Heyes, sitting up in bed, "I hate to say it, but we pretty much figure the word about where I used to live must have come from your place. We're awful sorry to have led them to you, but somebody there sold the Kid and me way, way down the river!"

The Kid, standing nearby and leaning on the wall, nodded.

Dr. Leutze nodded. "I think I know what happened. We surely never saw a pair of black-bearded wounded men in or near the place. But a little girl ran up the stairs and into the clinic day before yesterday asking for Joshua Smith, wanting to know where he was. Roy Gelbart's little grand-daughter – you remember Roy – a man from New Jersey who had a stroke? Anyway, his granddaughter Nora, who hadn't seen you since you moved- she doesn't come that often, and she's only six – she said something about Hester Street and "the Smith Brothers" before anyone could stop her. And then the strange child ran away again. It was only later that it occurred to us that someone must have bribed the child to get the information. So now I can see that it must have been the Teasdale Brothers! We decided it was safer not to send any message to you – that could have led them straight to where you two really are living now!"

"Whew!" said the Kid.

Heyes seconded him, "That's a relief, doc, to know that nobody at the clinic sold us out on purpose. I hope that leak's plugged, then."

"I'm so sorry to have had you, Kid, and Jim, and everyone else on Hester Street, in danger. Thank God you're such a great shot, even wounded, Jed!" The doctor looked at the Kid with respect – a look Curry knew well. He had earned it often.

"Doc, there's one more thing maybe you can do for us," said the Kid. "I never did get to send those telegrams. Some folks out West must be mighty worried. There's no one I would trust more than you. If we repeat the messages to you – we don't dare write them out – can you send telegrams – real careful telegraphs – to Cat and to Lom Trevors for us? To let them know where we are and that Heyes is alive?"

"I would be more than happy to do that, Jed," replied the doctor. "I know a good, discrete office a few blocks uptown."

"And there's one more thing, Doctor," said Heyes very seriously. The Kid looked closely at the doctor. He knew what Heyes was going to say – he had been about to say it himself. "Would you please have a talk with Jim? I know he wants to be a . . . hero, but what he's being is damned stupid. He disobeyed a direct order from the Kid, who sure does know what he's doing. Jim almost got a bunch of folks shot and he and the Kid were among them! And he's been awful foolish with me in the past, too. If he keeps that up, I'm going to have to stop knowing him at all. Jim's acting that way could get us killed. And it could get Jim killed, too."

The doctor nodded. "I agree with you, Heyes. But I think the word on that can't come from me."

"I've tried to tell him, doc . . ." said Heyes.

"He knows you too well, Heyes. He just sees you as a friend, even now that he knows who you really are. I think the Kid needs to tell him. He might listen to you, Jed. But just remember – he's still blaming himself for the death of his father and his brother. He still thinks that, at the age of 15, he should have tried to stop a gang of full grown, heavily armed, men from beating his family to death. He still thinks that if he had been heroic enough, he could have done it." The Kid nodded. He suspected that he knew just the right tone to take with Jim. He and Heyes had dealt with difficult young men with violent pasts aplenty when they had been with the Devil's Hole gang, and they knew a thing or two about how to do it. Someone, after all, had once had to do it for them.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Before dinner, while the men had their bull session in the guest room, Mrs. Homer and Beth were talking quietly in the living room. Beth came to see Heyes every day after work or church and gave him a chaste kiss every time, but Mrs. Homer understood the strain that Beth and her beau were under.

"You haven't gotten to be properly alone with him ever once since you decided to see each other, have you?" asked Marie Homer sympathetically.

Beth shook her head. "No – except in his hospital room, with the Kid or your husband or Dr. Leutze right outside the door. And then he was so sick and badly hurt. Thank God he's getting better now! There was one very, very memorable kiss . . ."

"I see," smiled Marie as Beth blushed. "You haven't ever gotten to follow up on that one kiss. It's great to have Heyes and Jed here with us and know that they are reasonably safe, but it's too crowded. Heyes must be one very frustrated man by now. No wonder he's so anxious to get better so fast!"

Beth nodded and said, "He sure is! I'm a bit restless myself, and I'm not trapped in a sick bed like poor Heyes is."

Marie gave her an understanding smile. "I'll tell you what, Beth. There's a play on that Charlie and I had planned to see, before all this happened. It's Henry the Fourth – plenty of action. I suspect the Kid might enjoy it, if we can get him to relax enough to go outside the apartment without his gun on his hip. Since Jed can't exactly go around town in his cowboy gear, Jim's arranged with one of his Hester Street tailor friends to alter a suit for him. It got here today and it fit perfectly. So why don't I try to arrange a little theater outing for Charlie and me and Jed, and leave you and Heyes here for the evening?"

Beth smiled very broadly at that apt suggestion. But then she wondered, "But what about security? A wounded man and a woman – won't the boys want to have someone on guard duty?"

"You leave that to me, and to Charlie, alright Beth?" Marie Homer guessed that she knew an easy solution to the problem. There was a big, burly fire chief living right next door, who was a good friend. He would be glad to watch out for any danger. The Homers had only to ask him. If only all of the problems faced by this new couple could be solved as easily!


	15. Chapter 15

When Beth came after work as usual to visit Heyes, she found him just settling back in after making a much longer walk with his crutches than he had the day before. He was still panting and sweating from the exertion with muscles recently unused to such exercise, but probably even more so from the continuing pain.

Beth brushed the hair back from Heyes' eyes with a tender gesture and gave him a kiss that he returned warmly. Then Heyes looked up to see the Kid grinning at him and he broke off the kiss abruptly. Heyes looked really annoyed at the Kid for staring at him in what should have been a private moment, but he didn't say anything. The Kid, still with what Heyes obviously saw as a mocking smile on his face, turned and left the guest room. Heyes wadded up a dirty handkerchief and threw it at his partner's retreating back. The limp rag fluttered to the floor before it reached Curry. Heyes stifled a curse. Seeing the tensions that sometimes built up between Heyes and Curry, Sometimes Beth wondered how these two men had ever spent so many years in such close proximity without shooting each other (at least on purpose). Heyes had never told her, though she could guess, that they had punched each other fairly regularly. And they had certainly passed countless smart remarks.

"I know, Heyes, it's frustrating never getting to be alone together," said Beth soothingly.

"It sure as h . . . it sure is," Heyes tried to avoid cursing around Beth, despite the fact that she was the very one who had taught him to curse again when he was recovering from aphasia.

"Then you'll be glad to know that Charlie and Marie are going to a play tonight - and they'll take Jed and Jim with them. No one will be left here but me and thee," Beth smiled fetchingly at Heyes. "And Marie said the nice fire chief next door can keep an eye out and make sure no one takes advantage of a woman and an injured man left alone together in New York City."

Heyes began to smile back at Beth, but then he looked out the still open door of the guest room and scowled towards where he could hear the voices of Marie Homer and the Kid laughing together. "So that's what the Kid was grinning like a fool about! And that's what he's in there giggling with Marie about, I guess! And it's probably what you and Marie were talking about yesterday!" said Heyes angrily, "Why does everyone but me get to plan my . . . private life! What a joke! You and I don't have a private life!" He picked up the handsome hard-cover first volume of Richard Burton's _The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night_ and flung it furiously against the wall above the Kid's sofa.

Beth drew back as if Heyes had struck her.

Heyes stared at her in fury, "And you . . ." But then he put his head in his hands. "Christ, I'm sorry Beth. I don't know what gets into me, sometimes. I didn't mean to be ungrateful to you – to the Homers, to the Kid. I just – when I get to be alone with you – really alone – I want it to be just right – and just us – in private. I don't want everyone to know what we do together. If you want to – I mean . . . Oh Christ, I'm sorry. I'm messing it up even worse, and probably every soul in the house listening in. Whoever said I had a silver tongue was a fool! You go with them to the play and leave me here alone like I deserve."

"Oh, Heyes," said Beth, "I do understand that it's hard. The Kid always says, 'Heyes is used to being in charge.'"

"Well, I'm never in charge of anything anymore!" grouched Heyes, "and what are you the Kid doing talking about me and my private business?"

"Heyes," and Beth, and then she started to laugh. Heyes stared at her for a moment and then he started to laugh, too.

When Heyes' laugher slowed enough for him to speak, he said, "What's that you said when I was first studying with you and I couldn't hardly say anything – 'just lean on your sense of humor?'"

"Yes, Heyes. I'm starting to think it applies all the time!"

"Oh, honey!" said Heyes, putting his arm around Beth, "I do love you an awful lot! If you don't mind having everyone know that you'll be spending the evening alone with me, I guess I don't either - 'cause I want you and I want you now!" He put his arms around her and gave her such a kiss and then another one and then another one that Beth was afraid he really wasn't going to wait until that night to do what he didn't want everyone else seeing and talking about. But he finally chuckled and shook his head and let Beth get off the bed, though he reached up to get one final kiss as she stood up and shook out her dress.

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The Homers took the Kid and Jim with them out to dinner and then to the theater to see Henry IV. It was an edited version that combined both parts of the play into one. The Kid was surprised to find so much of a Shakespearean play set in a tavern. He found the dialog a bit hard to follow, not being used to Shakespearean English, but he soon got well involved in the lively plot.

As they were on their way back to the Homers' apartment late that night, after a brief midnight supper after the play (very consciously leaving Beth and Heyes plenty of time), Jim found himself walking the last couple of blocks from the cab where the Homers were waiting, back to his own place with the Kid, in his new eastern suit, at his side.

"G-g-gosh, K-K-Kid!" said Jim, "Who'd have thought that the future K-K-King of England would be a th-th-thief! J-J-Just like you!"

"Watch your mouth, boy!" whispered the Kid angrily, looking around at all the windows that could have listening people behind them. "Use my alias or nothing! You want to give us away to the whole damn city?"

"Oh, n-n-no one's listening this t-t-time of night, K-K-Kid!" laughed Jim.

The Kid put his hand on Jim's slight shoulder and stopped the young man in his tracks. He turned to face Jim. "Jim, we're going up those stairs to your place and you're going to listen to me and you're going to listen real, real well."

Jim's eyes got very large and he just nodded. When then they got up to the "Smith Brothers' Place," the Kid went in with Jim and addressed his young host in a very intense, low voice.

"Jim, that's twice that you've disobeyed a direct order from me. And those were orders about things that could put a bunch of lives in real danger – including mine and yours! And Heyes says you've ignored his orders, too. He is really, really not happy with you."

Jim didn't say a word. He just swallowed and stared up at the Kid, who was much taller than he was, and whose face was dark with anger.

"This is damn serious, boy! Do you know what would happen to you in almost any gang in the West if you behaved that way?" Jim shook his head.

"A bullet in the back, that's what. And long before now. Anyone who endangers the gang that way doesn't live long." The Kid knew this well.

"And in the D-D-Devil's H-H-Hole?" asked Jim, his voice shaking a little.

"I think you know - Heyes never ordered any man killed. But he did have them beat up real bad and thrown out of the gang – left in real bad places where they might not live to get away."

"R-R-Really? Heyes d-d-did that?"

"Yeah, Jim. More than once. And do you know who did the beating?"

"Heyes?"

"No. He might have wanted to, but he had better sense than that.

Or he did mostly. Just once, when he first took over at Devil's Hole, before I joined up, he beat up a guy himself - a guy who didn't take orders well. Big Jim, the guy who led the gang before Heyes did, had warned him that a leader should never get involved in hammering a guy himself. But Heyes was young – maybe your age – and he hadn't learned that lesson yet. So he beat up a guy himself, just before the bunch rode off to do a job. They pulled off the whole thing perfectly, all the hard stuff Heyes had planned and everything. Took a lot of chances – men could have been killed. And Heyes got to the safe – he couldn't blow it – had to do it with the tumblers. But he couldn't do it. His hands had gotten bruised up when he was beating up the fool who'd disobeyed orders. Heyes' hands had swollen up so much that he couldn't do a damn thing with that safe. The whole gang had to just ride home again, after all the way they'd come and the all their work. After all the risks they had taken, they had to go empty handed. Because Heyes had tried to carry off everything himself – wanted to be a God damned hero.

So you know who did a lot of the beatings Heyes ordered, after that?" Jim shook his head "Me. Do I have to do one more now, Jim?" The Kid gave Jim a look that nearly froze his blood. He held the young man's gaze and watched him look utterly terrified for a good two minutes straight.

"Alright, Jim, have you learned your lesson? Are you going to stop trying to be a God damned hero? What's it going to be, Jim? Are you going to be respectful of Heyes, and me?" Jim nodded, with his eyes as big as saucers.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Thaddeus!" said Jim solemnly. "I'll t-t-take orders. You c-c-can c-c-count on me."

"Alright, Jim. Then we can keep on knowing you. Heyes said he was just about through with you and I was with him. We felt like you wanted to be a God damned hero more than you wanted to keep your friends alive. But if you promise to listen, and forget the hero stuff, you can still be our friend. Alright?" Jim nodded very slowly.

"Yes." Jim said simply.

The Kid ruffled his young friend's hair, and went down the steps to go back to the Homer's place. When got back to where the Homers' cab was waiting, the Kid looked at Charlie Homer and smiled.

"I think I might have gotten through to him. I sure hope so," said Kid Curry. "I had to lie a bit to do it, though. I told him that I beat up guys for Heyes. Really, I almost never did. Some other guys had to do it. Like Heyes had to keep his hands all pretty for safe cracking, I had to keep my hands in perfect shape like I still do – for shooting." Professor Homer looked at the Kid's cool blue eyes and felt a shiver run down his spine.

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That night, after Beth had fixed Heyes and herself a nice dinner and cleaned the dishes, the pair was sitting together on the guest bed, holding hands. Beth looked at Heyes' hands. "Your hands are beautiful, you know, Heyes. After all the time you've spent out west in the sun and the wind and riding horses, I wouldn't expect them to be so smooth."

"Actually, Beth, I try to keep them in good shape. The Kid and I wear gloves whenever we can, out West. Our lives often depend – or did depend – on those hands."

"I can guess why," she said. Heyes saw a little shiver of fear in Beth's eyes, but it warmed into a smile.

Heyes looked away from her for a moment, looking very uncomfortable, while still holding her hand. "But I'm afraid that's about the only part of me that's in that good shape. I hope scars don't bother you - because I've got a lot of them."

"That's been worrying you, hasn't it, Heyes? That your scars would frighten me? Well don't worry." Beth tried to keep her voice very steady, not to show any fear of this man with his terribly violent past. His past that, as he had said, tended to follow him.

"Yeah, it has worried me. It's bothered some girls."

Beth gently caressed Heyes's hands and started to feel her way up his arms. She didn't shy away at all as she got to the raised bands of scars around his wrists. "Tell me, what caused these?"

"Being tied up in raw hide – and getting out again. Only way to do it is to reduce the circumference – and the only way to do that is to give up the skin." Heyes sounded terribly cool about it.

"That must hurt horribly!" Beth kissed his scared wrists.

Heyes redirected her lips up to his. When his mouth was free again he went on, "Yes. And so does getting shot. You sure those marks won't bother you?"

"I'm sure." Beth smiled wickedly at that.

Heyes laughed, "Alright, girl." He leaned toward her and started on her buttons, gently kissing her neck, and then went a little lower with the next button . . .

"I don't want to hurt you, Heyes." Beth asked softly, sneaking a hand up under Heyes' shirt to caress his naked back and find the first of those scars.

"Don't worry. . . " Heyes breathed between kisses.


	16. Chapter 16

Dr. Leutze walked into Professor Homer's apartment, where he had become one of a strangely assorted little community around the out of place former outlaws. He had in his hand a bunch of slips of paper – telegrams from Heyes' backers on, or formerly on, the wrong side of the law. One and all were relieved to have the message relayed to them that he was alive. One and all promised to continue with support. Heyes smiled as he read the messages. He was standing, leaning a bit on Beth, who was helping him to make the transition from crutches to a cane.

"Thanks, Doc! I hope it's not too much of a risk, but I couldn't afford to lose all my backing when they thought I was six feet under!" Heyes turned to Beth, "Come on, honey. One more time to the end of the hall and back, then I've got to rest." Beth smiled into his warm brown eyes. The two felt closer by the day, as Heyes worked with his former tutor and new girl friend to prepare for school. He had an awful case of cabin fever, but hadn't dared to climb the stairs down to the street yet.

Just then, Jim and the Kid came in the door, laughing together. "What won't they think of next in this city!" exclaimed the Kid. "That big bronze lady is about the most amazing thing I've ever seen! Who would think of that?" He and Jim had been exploring the city together despite the continuing winter cold. Ever since the Kid had dressed Jim down, the young New Yorker had taken the western gunman as a kind of mentor. Heyes was jealous of their adventures, but he had plenty to keep him busy right there in the apartment.

The Kid knew that every day he stayed in New York was a risk, but he kept finding another excuse not to leave, like "I got to see that Brooklyn bridge before I go, Heyes. You told me all about it and I got to see it and tell Cat." He had honestly been waiting for his arm to heal up so he could defend himself as safely as possible, and so he would be harder to recognize. But, despite never saying it, he was waiting something else.

Heyes was working frantically at a pile of books to prepare for the coming spring semester. At least Heyes hadn't had to go to campus to meet with his advisor – since he was living with him. That gave him an extra couple of days to let his hip recover. By now, his voice was all recovered as well. But Heyes just prayed that no one at school had figured out the connection between those newspaper headlines and their friend Joshua Smith. Before he went to school and met with his friends there, he had held a little meeting of friends at the Homers' apartment.

"Alright," he said to the Homers, the Kid, Jim, Dr. Leutze, and Beth, "the story is, I got sick and hurt out west and stayed there until this Thursday. I was in Colorado and came out on the train and arrived Thursday – alright?"

"Alright Heyes, we heard you," said the Kid, "we'll keep the story straight." He and Heyes had worked out so many plans of such complexity that he felt kind of condescended to. But the others weren't so used to working out elaborate lies as the Kid and Heyes were.

On the day before the first classes of the spring semester, Heyes limped up the steps and into the hall in a pretty fair state of dread and a lot of pain. He was hoping that no one connected Smith to Heyes. And he had foolishly tried leaving his cane at the Homers' place, hoping he could make it on his own. After climbing that many stairs up from the street to the main floor, he was seriously regretting this decision. He stood for a moment just inside the lobby door, panting and sweating.

"Hey, Kansas, which one of us do you think is on top this semester?" yelled Paul Huxtable down the hall at the friend he hadn't seen in a month and a half. Heyes looked up in surprise – he had actually forgotten all about the academic standings race. "Co'mere, Smith," called the Missouri Kid. "They're about to post the standings! Hurry!" They could hear the crowd down the hall gathering around the bulletin board.

"I can't hurry, Missouri," Smith yelled back, as he limped down the hall, leaning against the wall to keep from falling.

"What the hell happened to you, Kansas?" asked Huxtable in concern.

"Fell off my horse out West. Hurt my hip pretty bad," Heyes was gasping between steps.

"Gosh, you sure did! Is that why you missed winter session?" Heyes nodded, too out of breath to speak. Huxtable, seeing how badly his friend was limping asked, "Can I help?"

Heyes was about to say that the Missouri Kid was too short for him to lean on, but it looked like his young friend had grown at least an inch is just a couple of months. "Maybe," said Smith. He put an arm over his young friend's shoulder to lean on him. That way he was able to get to the outer rim of the crowd around the math department bulletin board just in time for Professor Homer and the dean to post the list.

Everyone craned to see whose name was at the top. There was a collective gasp. "A tie!" cried Ev Carter, "A tie between Huxtable and Smith!" A big cheer went up – both men were well liked and respected by most of their classmates. Only a few sulky beaten out rich boys, like the haughty aristocratic Aldy Clarksdale and his pal Treadwell and their supporters, looked at all upset.

Once the crowd of math students broke up, Smith and his three closest pals made their way to their favorite bar, moving unusually slowly so Smith could make it. He had an arm around the shoulders of Ev and George as he went.

"What's the matter, Smith?" asked Everett Carter. "I thought you were coming back in time for winter session."

"Fell off my horse. Hurt my hip real bad. Been healing up." Heyes was nervous about how well he could keep fooling these young men who knew him so well – or thought they did.

"But I thought you rode so well?" said Neal George, "All those days riding in Central Park – and you still fell off that bad?"

"You're no horseman if you don't know that anyone can fall off. Actually, my horse shied and went under a low branch. I've been in bed all January healing up."

"Out West, or here?" asked NG.

"Out West. Got here just a few days ago. Too tough to travel, hurt that bad." Heyes hoped this aspect of the lie would help him to keep his story consistent – and to keep him far from any connection with that famous gunfight on the train. Heyes enjoyed catching up with his Columbia friends – it was good to hear about the wider world outside of the Homers' apartment. Heyes had only just moved back into his own place.

One day before he left New York the Kid decided to drop in on one of Heyes' classes. He was curious to find out about this other side of his partner's life. He chose one of Professor Homer's geometry classes, of course. It was on a Monday morning. The Kid, dressed in the new suit that Jim had arranged for him, arrived feeling that he looked almost like a student himself. Or he felt like he did – with no gun on his hip and wearing freshly polished shoes rather than boots. He tried to blend in with the crowd of bright young men gathered around the door, although they all stared at him curiously. The Kid kept looking around the crowd of students, but his partner was not among them. He even heard a student ask, "Where's Smith?" The Kid, wondering the same thing, filed in with the students and sat in the back, looking around the seats in front of him in search of Heyes.

Where was the man? He wasn't going to miss class, was he? And where was Professor Homer? Suddenly the Kid heard a very familiar voice, not softly from the seats but loudly from the front of the class room. Heyes wasn't IN the class – he was TEACHING it!

It had taken the Kid a few minutes to spot his partner because he had started out with his back to the class as he wrote a bunch of frightening looking equations and geometric shapes on the black board along with an announcement that the Kid now read. It said that Professor Homer was ill and unable to make it to class (which the Kid knew was a lie, since he was still staying with the man) and he had left Joshua Smith in charge. All the students knew Smith, of course, and it was clear that they had respect for him. There was only a brief moment of talking and laughter as they realized that a fellow undergraduate was in charge.

Heyes gave them a stern look, the quieted them, and then a grin. Smith's own special little group of friends, all of them in this class, looked up with particular interest. Smith had been a very shy and quiet guy when they first met him, and he had gained in confidence as the weeks went by and his aphasia, and his acquaintance with college life, improved. But for him to actually teach a class was taking his boldness and leadership to a whole new level in their eyes.

Heyes effortlessly projected his voice to the whole class. "Professor Homer's under the weather today, boys, so he left me in charge. Treat me well so we can get through all the material and maybe he won't be furious at you when he gets back." The students laughed.

"Or at you," said a tall student who looked to the Kid to be even older than Heyes.

"What makes you so special, Smith, that Homer leaves you in charge? You're nothing but an overgrown sophomore!" called one of the boys in the front row.

"Excuse me, Johnson?" said Heyes coldly, with a piercing look at the recalcitrant student. The Kid knew that tone of voice and that look - he had seen many a tough outlaw quickly wilt when faced with them. Johnson fell silent and there was a ripple of uneasy laughter from the class. No one else seemed to have any doubts about why Homer would have chosen Smith, his prize student, for this duty.

"Pull out your homework and let's see how you did," began the rookie teacher. "Any problems with it?"

"Yeah, Smith, that second ten had me puzzled," said one the younger students.

Heyes started writing on the board and began to go over the material as he wrote. He was limping heavily still from the bullet wound in his hip. But in no time, he had the puzzled student at the board teaching the rest of the class how to do the very problems that had caused him trouble only minutes before.

"What's wrong with your leg, Smith?" asked one of the students.

"Fell off my horse out West. You know how clumsy I am, boys." The class laughed, but they were back to serious math in seconds. From nearly the first instant that he was in front of the class, Joshua Smith had every single student hanging on his every word. He alternated effortlessly between real class material and quick comic lines that kept the mood light.

Was the Kid surprised to see his partner teaching a class with evident ease and powerful charisma? Not in the least! In fact, it all reminded the Kid very much of a planning and preparation session back at Devil's Hole – where Heyes had had a blackboard installed and had lectured to the gang in much the same style. The hand writing on the board was a lot neater now, but the clear words, easy demand of attention, joking to keep things lively, and sparkling eyes as the pacing young man explained things – were all absolutely familiar. It was kind of strange to see tidy young mathematics students hanging on his every word instead of the dusty Devil's Hole boys. The Kid now knew what Professor Homer was doing, pretending to be out sick. What he had guessed from hearing Marie Homer talk to Heyes about his future had been absolutely right.

After about a half hour, the Kid snuck out of the classroom and went back to Professor Homer's apartment, where the Professor was having an unusually leisurely breakfast and reading the morning paper. "Well, how's he doing?" he asked when the Kid came in.

"If he wasn't talking nothing but math in that squeaky-clean classroom, I'd have sworn he was back in Devil's Hole explaining a plan to the boys. And teaching them how to do it right, the way he always did. Except these guys are smart! They ask questions – and wow, what questions! And none of them throw him – not at all. How can he do it? He hasn't been well enough to read that math for long before class started. How does he know so much more than all the others do? How can he explain it all to them? He didn't know until this morning that he was going to teach, did he?"

Professor Homer laughed. "Do you really have to ask? You know him. He's gotten ahead of the class already. He's not just smart - he works HARD! And he doesn't just get the answers – he thinks about how and why and what would be the best way to explain it. He didn't need to know that he was going to teach – he's always been ready. I knew he could do it – I appreciate your spying on him for me to confirm that."

"No problem," said the Kid. But he sighed as he thought about the implications of what he had seen and heard. He knew that his partner was moving away from their old life together. He was likely to be around schools like this for the rest of his life. Probably he would be on the east coast, teaching. The Kid had to say it, feeling a strange combination of proud, excited, and broken hearted. "This is what he should do – he should be a college math professor like you! If the governor will just give us amnesty! Or if he can't see his way clear on me, maybe just Heyes 'cause of his studies."

The professor nodded. "Surely you'll both get amnesty – after all you've been through! Heyes is doing fine. More than fine in school, you know that. He's at, or right near, the top of the class always. Despite the aphasia, which still bothers him, you know, especially in writing. I think he's been putting off telling you – he won't be home to Colorado when he's done with the BA. With results like he's been getting, he'll be accepted for the Master's program, no problem. He'll be here for two more years after that – or a little less if I know him – piling on the classes and acing them all - getting a graduate degree."

"Acing?" asked the Kid, who didn't know even this elementary academic slang.

"Getting all As! He always does. And at the MA level, he'd better. For an MA student, a C is a failure and a B is a disgrace. Then, if only we can get that amnesty for you guys, with a Master's degree he can teach almost anywhere they have a spot." Professor Homer sounded happy for Heyes, but his eyes looked sad – he knew that what he was saying was bad news to the Kid. Heyes would never really be his partner in the same way again. "Any school would kill to get him."

"If he doesn't get himself killed first," the Kid replied. Professor Homer didn't say it, but he knew that any school would want a teacher of Heyes' brilliance – but not one with a felony record. He wondered if any school would ever get past that.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes had moved back into his own room, but when he got back there after school, he found a note from "Thaddeus Jones" inviting him to dinner at the Homers' apartment. When Heyes arrived at Homer's place, he saw the Kid grinning at him, and Beth was there smiling, too. Heyes grinned with his teeth all showing in embarrassment and said, "So, you caught me at it, Kid! Now you know what I want to do. Go ahead and laugh! Professor Hannibal Heyes? Pretty ludicrous idea, isn't it?"

Beth put her arm around her man and didn't have to speak for him to know that she sure didn't think it was ludicrous.

The Kid wasn't laughing, although he did smile. "No, Heyes, it sure ain't. It makes all kinds of sense to me – just like it does to Professor Homer and Beth."

Heyes looked up, still with some anxiety on his face, "Really, Kid? You don't think it's silly? You aren't gonna laugh at me?"

The Kid looked proudly at Heyes. "Not hardly! I think it would be stupid for you NOT to do it. Aw, Heyes, you ought to know I wouldn't laugh at you – not when it really counts. I've seen you teach plans to the stupid guys at the Hole a thousand times – with smart guys, you could teach 'em anything!" Heyes and the Kid had always taken great pride in each other's abilities and triumphs. This hadn't stopped when they went straight.

Heyes shook his head and he looked pretty serious, "Come on, nobody's gonna hire Hannibal Heyes the outlaw to teach college! Not in a million years!"

The Kid clapped him on the back. "Come on yourself, what about Hannibal Heyes the former outlaw? Him they might hire!"

Heyes gave a half smile, "I hope so, Kid. I sure do. What do you think, Charlie?"

Professor Homer smiled proudly at his protégé. "You know what I think, Heyes. I think you were born to teach. But whether anyone will let you, that's another matter. You better be ready to do something else, in case it takes a while for people to get past that name of yours."

"What about you, Marie?" asked the Kid. "Do you think Heyes should teach?"

Mrs. Homer looked very serious and the joking men grew quiet. "I hate to say it, gentlemen, but I know what it's like to train and study and be qualified to teach – and never get the chance. I hope a male ex-outlaw will do better than a female with no criminal record, but I don't know. And Beth knows, too."

Beth nodded. "I could never teach college, for the same reason," said Beth. "Why do you think I'm teaching at Dr. Leutze's place? It's a great job. But it wasn't my first choice, I have to admit."

"It ain't just, Marie, Beth, it just ain't just at all," said the Kid. "I know you two can teach rings around anyone – well, almost anyone." He smiled at Professor Homer, and then at Heyes himself.

Mrs. Homer tried not to look so grim as she spoke to first one reformed outlaw and then the other. "I'd be the last to deny that there's injustice in the world, Jed. But sometimes it gets better. So my advice, Heyes, is to do your best and never give up. You absolutely must never give you – you're too good. You hear me?"

"I hear you, Marie. I surely do," answered Heyes with a determined grin, and his arm around the always supportive Beth.

"Never give up, Heyes!" Beth whispered in Heyes' ear, then gave him a kiss. She would be there to make sure that he kept the faith.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Now that he had seen Heyes safely started back to school, the Kid was ready to take the train back to his home in the West. He wished he could have met Heyes' school friends, but they hadn't dared to show the two of them together to young men who must have read about Heyes and Curry and the gunfight.

Heyes bid the Kid farewell from his own room, not daring to go with the Kid to Grand Central Terminal, where he had last been carried on a stretcher while the news boys yelled about his supposed death.

"Go safely, Kid!" said Heyes, giving his partner a bear hug. "And don't you dare go up to that place in Montana, Lodge Grass or whatever it is, where somebody pulled a job and blamed us. I'm not up to going up there yet, and don't you dare go up alone. And can't miss school again. You wait 'til the end of semester this summer and we'll go up together and straighten it out. Alright?"

"Alright, Heyes," promised the Kid. "We'll wait. Hasn't been anything on that story in the papers in a long time, so I guess it's safe to wait. Study hard, professor! And write to us as often as you can. I want to know what's going on out here!"

"And you write back, or get Cat to do it! I want to know what's going on in Colorado," Heyes insisted.

"Sure, Heyes. Whatever you say," said the Kid. Then he picked up his saddlebags and a new bag to hold his New York clothes, and headed out the door. Heyes looked out the window after his partner for a long time – long after he had vanished into a cab headed to the train station. He was sure going to miss having the Kid there to watch his back – and to be at his side.


	17. Chapter 17

A week and a half in to the next spring semester, when it was really still winter, Heyes got a letter from "Thaddeus Jones." It started "Dear Professor." Heyes cringed. He knew that the Kid was only joking around, but professor was a title that Heyes took very seriously. He wrote back:

"Don't give me that title till I've earned it, Thaddeus. That's going to take years. I'm sorry it takes so long, but that's part of how you learn. Or how I learn. Times goes by. How's Cat? I hope she's not too mad at all the time you spent out here with me. I was darned glad to have you. I hope she understands that."

Being publically "dead" helped Heyes to relax about his legal status and concentrate on his schooling. He and his Columbian friends were making great progress as they advanced in their mathematics classes. In addition to his usual school papers, Heyes was writing a lot of other letters that spring. Many of them were in German. Heyes had gotten Charlie Homer to introduce him by letter to a German mathematics professor whose ideas interested Heyes. This was Gustave Heintzelman of Ludwig-Maximilians-Universitat in Munich. Heyes, using the German he had been learning, and getting help from his German professor, began writing some of his most advanced mathematical questions and ideas to Professor Heintzelman. Heintzelman was immediately friendly and encouraging to this American student from the west. Heyes soon figured out that the man was intrigued by the idea of the west. Heyes' letters about mathematical theory were enlivened by the occasional story about cattle herding or riding through the Yellowstone, much to the evident glee of his German mentor. Heintzelman only wished that his American correspondent had more experience with Indians, but Heyes just had never spent much time with them other than the time that he and Curry had been tied up and hauled back to an Indian camp. Needless to say, this wasn't a story Heyes was very keen to relate. He was happier when writing about his geometry and applied mathematics ideas. It was a bit annoying to wait weeks for his own letter to get to Germany and then for Heintzelman to write back to New York, but such was intercontinental communication in those days. Heyes couldn't help but wonder how Heintzelman would react if he ever learned who the correspondent he knew as Joshua Smith really was. Considering his enthusiasm about the colorful aspects of the West, the great German mathematician might just be intrigued rather than disappointed.

One day in early March Charlie Homer called Joshua Smith and Paul Huxtable both into his office. "Boys," he said, "I've got a letter here from a friend of mine at Harvard. They're going to be holding a mathematical conference up there in April. They want some of our best and brightest undergrads to go up and present their ideas. Most of the men I want to send are upper classmen, but I though you two boys might want to join them. I mean, you may officially be underclassmen, but you're so advanced that you come off like juniors or so. It will take some work to prepare, but are you interested?"

"Sure thing, Charlie!" said Heyes, without even thinking. "I've always wanted to visit Harvard – and meet from math guys from other places. Be nice to find out what they can do – and show them what we can do!"

"And Boston!" Huxtable chimed in enthusiastically, his freckled face aglow, "The Museum of Fine Arts, the Boston Symphony, the Public Garden!"

As soon as Heyes heard Huxtable talking about Boston, Charlie Homer could see the reformed outlaw's face cloud over. "What's wro . . ." he started to ask, only to have Heyes wave him off warily. Homer shut his mouth immediately on that topic and just talked to Huxtable and Smith about the coming mathematical conference and where they could stay etc. Homer was starting to be able to recognize when he had stumbled onto one of those dangerous Hannibal Heyes aspects of his student's life, and this, despite the eastern setting, was obviously one of them.

When Huxtable had set off for his next class, Heyes remained behind in his advisor's office for a moment. "Alright, Heyes," said Homer when Huxtable was safely gone and the door was closed, "what's wrong with Boston that you don't want me to talk about? Is it going to keep you from going to the conference? This is going to be an important professional opportunity for you!"

"Oh, nothing," Heyes said, his worried face denying his words. "Nothing that would keep me from going, but . . .

"So it's not nothing, Heyes. What is it?" Homer was wondering what on earth could connect Hannibal Heyes with Boston.

"I have a – well, an old flame there. She figured out who I am. She wasn't real happy with me last time we met. I think she'd turn me in as soon as look at me," Heyes said in a low, unhappy voice. He liked Julia, but he hadn't liked at all having her pity him when he couldn't talk. She just hadn't understood his situation at all.

"Boston is a big city, Heyes! The chances of your meeting one old flame in that whole town are pretty small, you know. You won't be there that long. And honestly, no matter what Huxtable hopes, most of the time would be spent in Cambridge, where Harvard is, across the river from Boston." Homer grinned at his protégé who was still pretty ignorant about eastern cities, at least outside of New York.

"I know, I know! But I can't help thinking about it. Now that I'm "dead," I don't want anybody resurrecting me!" Heyes knew that he came across as kind of paranoid sometimes. But he also knew that there really were people who were out to get him – or there would be if they knew he was still alive.

"Come on, you're pretty sophisticated on the subject of probability, Heyes. What's the real probability?" laughed Charlie Homer.

"I don't know. I don't have enough facts to even start to figure it out. I mean, what's the population of Boston – plus the population of Cambridge? And how many people are we likely to meet? I don't like working without the facts!" Heyes sounded irritable.

"How should I know? Stop worrying, and start getting your presentation together!" said Homer and shooed Heyes out the door.

The following month a little contingent of mathematics students from Columbia set off on the train for Boston in high spirits. Spring was coming fast and they were glad to get away from their school routines for a weekend of intensive math. The young men joked together noisily, until they got over their initial excitement and settled into reviewing their papers for their presentations. Heyes felt confident on his, so he soon fell to looking out the windows of the train. He was fascinated to see the unfamiliar countryside out the train windows, including the colorful New England coastal towns of Rhode Island and Connecticut. As they went through the coastal marshes, sometimes there was water on both sides of the train tracks! Heyes was intrigued to see cormorants for the first time, perched on pilings drying their wings when they came from diving after fish. Once he even saw a flight of trumpeter swans taking off from a Connecticut pond! That made him smile. Heyes had always liked birds, but out west riding to jobs and away from posses, he had rarely had time to look for them.

Then, too soon, they were in Cambridge. A group of Harvard students came to accompany the Columbia visitors on a walking tour around campus and to take them to the dorm rooms where they would be staying as guests of Harvard men for the weekend. Hands were shaken all around. Heyes was rather awed to meet these impressed students and to see Harvard. The tree-lined quads looked just like his ideal of a college campus. The eighteenth-century buildings like wooden Christ Church, and the red brick residence hall Massachusetts Hall, and the elegant classically trimmed brick Harvard Hall were the oldest buildings he had ever seen in his life. He stared at them as the group of mathematical students passed on a quick walking tour, looking for the dorms where they would be staying with fellow students while they were in town for the weekend. Heyes tired to imagine what life would have been like for student and teachers there a hundred or more years before coming to school in these buildings, perhaps walking along these same paths. He wondered if some of the towering trees, just leafing out well in the April sun, might date back to the days of the American Revolution. And then there were the handsome new stone buildings with bold arches in the latest styles – they would look elegant, he was sure, a hundred years hence.

But mostly, Heyes strained his ears and his mind as he tried to listen as hard as he could to the mathematical discussions flying back and forth between the Columbian upperclassmen and the students from Harvard, and the other men already there from Yale and Princeton. There was so much to be learned! He tried to just stay quiet and listen, foreign as that was to his nature. For once, other worries crowded being spotted as an outlaw out of his mind. He was afraid to embarrass himself in front of the impressive upperclassmen, and he didn't want to come off as a crude westerner in front of these sophisticated Harvard men.

Heyes saw one of the Harvard mathematics majors - a middle-height, brown-haired, quiet sort of guy – asked Paul Huxtable something. Huxtable pointed at Heyes, who looked up curiously. The Harvard man came over to Heyes and put out his hand. "Hello! Are you Joshua Smith?" he said in a friendly baritone voice.

"Yes, I'm Smith," answered Heyes quietly.

"Good! I'm George Jones. You'll be staying with me. Glad to meet you, Smith!" The two shook hands. Heyes, having expected all the Harvard students to be arrogant snobs, found this to be entirely untrue of Jones. The two men walked along companionably beneath the towering oaks and elms. They had no math events until that evening and could afford a bit of time to talk.

"Thanks, Jones! Good of you to take me on. It sure is great to see Harvard – I've heard so much about it!" Heyes was eager to be nice to his host.

"Oh, it's just a school. It's a good one, but so is Columbia from all I've heard. But you aren't from New York, are you? I am, so I know that's no New York accent." Jones immediately struck Heyes as a nice, down to earth guy, among a bunch of mathematics students who were mostly showing off like mad in high excitement.

"You're right. I'm from a bit west of there – Kansas. But I've been gone from it most of my life. You aren't from New York City – I know those accents by now." Heyes didn't want to get asked details about Kansas – it was a subject that always made him uneasy. He hadn't been there since the terrible events of his childhood.

"No - I'm from upstate – a little town in the Adirondacks called Blue Mountain Lake." Heyes knew that the Adirondacks were mountains north of New York State where some rich people went on vacation, but he had certainly never been there.

"Sounds pretty! I've never been up there – most of my life I've been west of the Mississippi." Heyes hoped he could avoid going into a lot of detail about his life, but he supposed it was kind of paranoid of him to always avoid talking about the presentable parts of his past.

Jones smiled. He was evidently fond of his home. "It is pretty. At least in the summer it is. In winter it's beautiful, but a tough place to live in – real cold and snowy and lonely. But I like it. If you don't mind my asking, how old are you? You sure didn't get to Columbia right out of high school."

Heyes was glad at least that Jones came out and asked his questions instead of just speculating and staring the way some people did. "I don't mind. You're right. I'm 34. I never went to high school. It was all one-room school houses out where we were and I didn't ever finish school until just a couple of years ago." Heyes preferred to tell as much of the truth as he could.

Jones nodded. "I went to a one-room schoolhouse, too, but I did finish there before I got to a prep school in Albany, and then here. The Adirondacks are pretty remote, specially in winter. There's plenty of time to work on your slate by the fire."

"You must be good, Jones! To get from a little school to Harvard!" Heyes was impressed – he had some idea of how hard a transition that would be.

"Not bad, I guess. I didn't really catch the math bug until prep school. I was more interested in English before that, believe it or not. I was lucky to have a good teacher in prep school. How'd you get from no high school to Columbia?" Jones was just following up the obvious questions – not really pushing hard. But Heyes exhaled hard and looked down. He didn't mind signaling to his new friend Jones that this was a tough topic. "I didn't mean to pry – you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Heyes shrugged. "I guess there's no reason to keep it a secret. I came to Columbia from a tutor at a medical clinic. I had – I still have, a bit – aphasia. I guess you don't know what it is?"

Jones tried to keep his reaction low key, but he couldn't help guessing at a traumatic history behind the purposefully casual words. "I can understand enough Latin to figure it out – but you talk just fine. Doesn't it mean the inability to speak?"

"It does. And for a long time there, I couldn't speak at all. I had to go to a clinic in New York and learn talking and writing all over again. After . . ." Heyes pulled back the long hair that usually covered the scar on his temple.

Jones gasped. "Wow! That's quite a scar. What happened?"

Heyes tried to stay very casual about it, still. He didn't want to catch the attention of other students talking nearby. "Bullet. Sometimes there's a lot of lead flying around out there."

Jones appreciated his new friend's wish not to garner too much attention, so he didn't exclaim loudly, but he couldn't help asking. "Gosh! Who shot you?"

Heyes shrugged again. "Damned if I know! Don't remember a thing about it. My partner saved my life - hauled me to a little town in Colorado where they took care of me until we found the right doctor to treat me in New York."

"Partner? You mean your business partner?" Jones was puzzled.

Heyes grinned. He wasn't about to reveal what the business really had been! "Not business – just watching each other's backs. We just bummed around – ranch work, mining, body-guarding. Anything that paid a little and wasn't too hard on the back."

"That's quite the change from bumming around the west to mathematics at Columbia. You must be good, too!" Jones smiled at him.

Heyes tried to stay modest, while hearing a fair amount of bragging going on between other students around them. "Not bad. I always liked math and had a man who taught me some good stuff out west, but my tutor is the one who really got me to be serious about it."

"So no more bumming around?"

"Not much! What are you presenting on?" Heyes changed the subject, hoping to avoid more autobiographic stuff. He had said about as much as he was comfortable with. And, indeed, now math took over. The Harvard men were enthusiastic and talented, Jones not the least. That evening started off with a pompous speech from a professor from Yale. Then there was a dinner and a lot of talk afterwards between the students getting to know each other. Heyes kept pretty quiet and mostly listened, although he was pretty much forced to recite a bit of his western background a couple of times to the eastern boys of Harvard and their other eastern academic guests. It was pretty late when Smith and a different Jones than usual got back to a small dorm room. As Heyes got undressed and donned a night shirt before he climbed into the small folding bed provided for him, he felt Jones' eyes on him. He wondered which of his scars the man had caught sight of. Jones didn't say anything, but it didn't take a genius to combine Smith's story and his scars to come up with a pretty violent and, for an academic, unusual, background. But Heyes was too tired for any worries about that to keep him awake.

The next day was all student presentations - theorems and complex equations. Heyes made a brief presentation just before noon about an idea he'd had on equations for figuring stresses and forces in small explosions. He had worked out some of the details with Professor Homer, and some with Professor Heintzelman via letters from Germany. With Homer, at least, Heyes could be honest about his experience with such explosions in real life – in blowing safes! He had to hide this from everyone else, of course. Heyes kept himself from pacing and just drew a couple of diagrams and some long equations on a blackboard. He explained a bit and answered some questions and then it was on to the next guy. Heyes mostly enjoyed learning from what the other guys had to say – and how they said it. He was there in Harvard as much to learn how such academic affairs worked as to hear specific math discussions. He felt the weight of how much he had to learn about academics itself, but kept reminding himself that he was very early in his academic career.

Heyes felt like what he had to say was nothing like as impressive as what the Harvard and Yale and Princeton guys had, but people seemed impressed. Perhaps it was because he was still only a sophomore, or because word of his scant academic background was getting around. Any of the Columbia guys could have shared that. Heyes didn't think that Jones was talking a lot about what his new friend had told him.

On Sunday morning, there was a nice, relaxed breakfast and a brief visit to the newly built Museum of Fine Arts. And then it was back on the train and back to New York. Heyes felt he had come out of the whole thing pretty well and learned a lot. And he had made a friend. He and George Jones had promised to keep in touch. They would be sure to see each other around the field. It would be good, next time Heyes went to some academic math event, to have the chance to see a friend there. And he had gotten acquainted with quite a few guys from Harvard and Princeton and Yale. It was an important beginning for Heyes in his new field. He felt satisfied about that.

But after class, Charlie Homer called Heyes into his office. The look on his face promised trouble, it seemed to Heyes. Once the door was safely closed, Charlie said, "Never let me call you paranoid again, Heyes."

Homer held up one of the myriad New York City newspapers. Heyes swore. It wasn't on the front page, but on the second page there was a small head line reading, "Hannibal Heyes Seen Alive in Boston." There was a story, referred from a small Boston paper, that a woman who professed to know the notorious outlaw well had spotted him on a street in the Boston Back Bay. She had gone to get a policeman and by the time she gotten back to the platform where he had been, he had vanished. But she had given a strong description and been sure of who he was. The woman's name was not given, but her identity was clear enough to Heyes – it had to be Julia. The next day, the story showed up in more newspapers. Some papers seemed to doubt the report. But Heyes had no doubts: he had been resurrected.


	18. Chapter 18

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" yelled Heyes at the newspaper held up for him in Professor Homer's office, then he suddenly fell silent. He realized that he could easily have been heard in the hall outside and didn't want to have to explain his anger to his friends.

"Did you see this woman?" Charlie Homer asked Heyes.

Heyes shook his head. "No, I didn't. Not a glimpse! But I think I know when it must have been. I was paying attention to the Harvard guys – not watching for people who might know me. I guess I should be watching all the time, but for once I wasn't. I guess it's my fault, cause I sure didn't see Julia."

"How do you know it was this woman Julia, if you didn't see her? They just say a Boston woman."

"She's the only woman I know in Boston. Until last weekend, she was the only person I knew in Boston at all – at least that I remember." Heyes looked down and searched his memory, but he couldn't think of anyone else.

"Unless someone moved or took a trip," suggested professor Homer.

"What does it matter? I'm staying away from Boston after this! At least until we get our amnesty – if we get amnesty." Heyes sounded understandably depressed.

Homer waved his finger in Heyes' face."You do get a bit arrogant, you know! You shouldn't get careless, being so sure you know who it was. Be keeping an eye out for anyone who could ID you!"

"Don't you think I always do that? Well, except for last weekend." Heyes sighed. He got very sick of being so careful. Without the Kid at his side providing another pair of very educated eyes, he had to be even more careful in some ways.

Homer wasn't going to let his student off the hook. "Exactly my point. You were watching for this Julia, though, right?"

Heyes nodded. "Right – I was. I wasn't consciously watching for her when we were walking to the train station, but I would have noticed her if I had seen her. I would have – I'm sure of it."

Homer pressed home his point, "So it could have been someone else – someone you weren't thinking of and didn't notice."

Heyes had to admit that, "Yeah, I guess so. I'll be careful, Charlie. Like I say, I always am. Have been for most of twenty years. It kind'a gets to be a habit. I sure wish I could just be a student and forget the rest of it. Between that and being with Beth, it's plenty to keep me busy."

Homer gave Heyes a sad half smile. "Nobody's just a student, Heyes. Everyone has a life, too. And some other people's lives are harder than you might think.

And please, don't forget the good part of what you learned last weekend. School – and learning – is a whole lot more than making As. The good students make As – the exceptional students do as much as they can outside the classroom. And making friends is part of it. You did a good job at Harvard – you should be proud of that."

Heyes snorted. "I'd be prouder of the math if I wasn't scared stiff of the rest of it."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The semester went on and Heyes continued to do very well in the classroom and out of it. He kept worrying that Julia would come back to New York looking for him. He watched his back religiously, but never saw Julia or anyone else who seemed likely to betray him. He enjoyed going out now and then with his friends Ev and Huxtable and Neal George, when he could. But Heyes didn't do that as much as he had formerly. It just made him too nervous. And Heyes still made a point of riding or shooting with Wainright whenever he could spare the time on a weekend. He didn't dare get careless about keeping his western skills in good shape. It got to be really a grind, sometimes – keeping up with being a student and a fugitive, and a man, too. It got very hard to make time to be with Beth anything like as much as he wanted to.

After Heyes had been "resurrected" in the papers, he kept feeling like another shoe was going to drop. He woke up suddenly the middle of the night whenever he heard anything – and in New York there was nearly always something to hear. As the end of the semester neared, Heyes was anticipating it with much less than his usual joy. He and the Kid had planned to go up to Lodgegrass, Wyoming, where a robbery had been blamed on them the previous November. It was that faked robbery that had caused the bounty offered on them by a group of banks and train companies to be raised from $10,000 each to $15,000 each. Heyes had hoped they could get it put right pretty fast so he could return to New York to take a couple of summer classes. He was constantly pressing forward with his plans for graduating as early as he could. He worked like mad studying as exam week approached. He had awful spring fever, but stayed indoors most of the time studying.

Then on the last day of the semester, after his last class, as Heyes left the class talking with Huxtable and Ev, he saw something that he dreaded. In fact, nearly everyone in those days dreaded this – the sight of a telegram delivery boy in search of him. A boy in Western Union's distinctive uniform with a peaked cap was waiting in the hall. And he was calling, "Joshua Smith, telegram for Joshua Smith!" Heyes hurried over to the telegram boy, anxiously wondering what this sudden news was. Smith motioned for his friends to go on without him. He had an awful feeling that whatever the news was, he wouldn't be able to share it with them.

The boy stood awkwardly, hoping for a tip as he handed over a telegram. Heyes distractedly gave the boy two bits and read the telegram with growing concern. Telegrams delivered out of the blue were notorious for always being bad news. Heyes' heart began to pound as he saw the words on the little slip of paper.

"Thaddeus to Lodge Grass Montana week ago stop never came back stop never wrote stop please help stop

Catherine Christy, Louisville, Colorado"

"Damn!" exclaimed Heyes with real feeling. He carefully wrote out a reply on the boy's pad and paid to have it sent back to Cat. She must be about going crazy. He wished he had better news than simply that he would drop everything and head to Lodge Grass – if he could find it.

Before the first telegram boy was long out the door, another was on his way in yelling, "Joshua Smith! Telegram for Joshua Smith!"

"Aw crap," muttered Heyes to himself. "This can't be good!" He read the scrap of paper, making sure the boy stayed to take a reply.

"Mutual friend arrested Lodge Grass Montana stop charges armed robbery and murder stop I am stuck testifying for murder trial here stop g no help stop let me know your plans soonest stop could be lynching stop

Sheriff Lom Trevors, Porterville, Wyoming Territory"

"Damn!" exclaimed Heyes with even more feeling, causing the telegram boy standing in the otherwise silent and empty hall to jump about half a foot. Now a very agitated Mr. Joshua Smith wrote out two telegrams and sent one to each of his two correspondents. The one to Cat just repeated what Lom had said (leaving off the last part about lynching, which could only uselessly worry Cat) and the second one telling Lom that he was on his way to Lodge Grass. What he would do when he got there, he had no idea. He didn't know what he was up against, other than the law and someone who was, once again, faking being Heyes and the Kid. Would people never get tired of this?

Heyes and the Kid had never struck Lodge Grass, Montana, in their lives, or been there for any other reason. Heyes had heard of the place – it wasn't all that far from the Wyoming border and from Devil's Hole, as the big distances out west went. But it wasn't more than a cross roads, as far as Heyes knew. It had never offered any attraction for a visit.

Heyes went by Professor Homer's office to notify his advisor before he vanished from town. The lean, grey professor was checking papers at his desk when his prize student arrived. "Charlie, I've got to leave town and leave fast. Sorry to miss exams, but it's life or death. The Kid's life."

Homer looked up in distress. "What the hell, Heyes!?"

"I just got a telegram – actually, two telegrams. The Kid went up to Lodge Grass, Montana – you know, where somebody pulled that robbery that got the bounty on us raised last November. I knew I should have gone up there and done something about it myself. I hoped the Kid had better sense. He said he'd wait until I could go with him after the semester ended. But it turns out that he didn't wait. I can't think what happened. No way he would have just gone out of the blue. Something must've happened! He went up a week ago, Cat says. And Lom says he's gotten himself arrested. Armed robbery - and murder! Lom Trevors says he can't go do anything about it right now and the governor of Wyoming won't help. So it's up to me. Lom said the folks out there could lynch him, so I've got to hurry."

"Heyes, what am I going to do with you? How are we ever going to get you graduated if you insist on running around playing cowboys and Indians all the time? I guess you can take a bunch of incompletes, but it won't look good on your record." Homer looked tired as he put down his pen.

"You don't expect me to let my partner be lynched, do you? Or just plain hung? Or put in prison for the rest of his life, even if the murder charge doesn't stick?" The frantic Heyes was pacing as much as he could in the tiny office.

"Of course not. Just don't leave yet right this minute! I've got to get a few things squared away. I'll meet you at your place in three hours and I'll have a train schedule with me." The professor pulled out his battered pocket watch and consulted it, figuring up what he could manage.

"Excuse me, professor." Heyes was shocked at what he was hearing. "What on earth are you talking about? You've got three classes counting on you to give exams. You can't up and go off to Montana with me!"

"Oh, come off it, Heyes!" Charlie Homer was from Wyoming and he made sure that Heyes knew it. "Anybody can proctor exams! And grade them, too. You know full well I've got a flock of teaching assistants to do it. I ought to be here to officially supervise, and to rule on final grades, of course. But with my seniority, I doubt the dean'll kick up much fuss. I've got full notes in place to guide the TAs. I just have to come up with a good official excuse. Death in the family ought to do it. Marie can go visit somebody out of town so we'll both be gone."

"Oh come off it, Charlie!" Heyes came back at his Professor, who was in his sixties. "You'd just slow me down."

Homer sat up indignantly. "I'm not that old! I can ride as fast as anyone, and I know Wyoming and Montana damn well. I've probably been there more recently than you have."

Heyes didn't want to hurt his mentor, but he also didn't want to be burdened by him on this vital trip. "I'm not talking about age. I'm talking about experience, professor. The Kid and I are professionals at this. An amateur would just be a problem."

Professor Homer pointed at himself passionately. "I'm a damn experienced amateur!"

Heyes was angry in his turn. "You don't have any experience springing people out of jail! I've sprung the Kid out of jail more times than I could tell you."

"More times than you could tell me? I think you can tell me about more than four or five." Charlie Homer couldn't stop being a professor.

"At least ten times, Professor," argued Heyes."

Homer was surprised at that, "Really? That many? Well, that is a lot. But by the way, I have a friend in Lodge Grass – or near there, at a ranch."

"You made that up just now to convince me to let you come," Heyes was still mad.

Homer mildly contradicted his student, "No – I told you about my cowboy poet friend the first day we met – this is him."

"A poet! What good is a poet?" Heyes threw his hands in the air. "It's the Kid and I who know what we're doing. As Kid says, if there's anything we're as good at as breaking into banks, it's breaking out of jails. We do know our way around. We've got way too much experience in that area. The problem is, you can't use any trick more than once – those sheriffs do talk to each other."

Homer stoutly maintained, "I'm still coming. You need someone who knows the area and who doesn't, frankly, look like Hannibal Heyes. They're bound to be expecting you, after you got resurrected."

Heyes had to nod at that, "Unfortunately, that's true. Who made you so smart? Oh, alright, come if you're bound to! Well, we've both got things to do. Come to my place by six and we'll talk about it. Bring dinner. And warm clothes. It'll be cold up there at night even in May."

Homer was determined to be given full credit for his experience outside the classroom, "I know the place, Heyes! It'll be hot in the day and cold at night. And yes, I have your secret new address from school records."

By the time Heyes and Charlie Homer got together at Heyes' place, Jim was there, too. He had been given the formerly secret address by Professor Homer. Jim, with Charlie Homer's connivance, was working hard on talking himself into going along with Heyes to spring the Kid. After the talking-to the Kid had given him, Heyes hoped Jim might be a bit more dependable, but he wondered. An odd selection of equipment, from ropes and packs to hatchets and canteens, was piled incongruously on the tenement floor. Each of the three men had brought a share of it without consulting the others. They had done pretty well, between them, at getting a reasonable supply of good stuff. But Heyes kept thinking of Jim's stack of western novels and hoping his friend wouldn't think things really worked like that out west.

Heyes moaned, "Aw gosh, two green horns! I hope Cat looks good in black cause this'll never come off with the Kid alive. The Kid and I are professionals at this! I don't need amateur help!"

"Amateur help is better than no help at all. And I know Montana damn well, especially that part of it," Professor Homer bristled. "The Kid thought he didn't need help and look what happened to him!"

"I'm n-n-no g-g-greenhorn d-d-dealing with g-g-gangs. J-j-just look at me!" insisted Jim, meaning the scars all over his face from a beating by a gang.

Heyes signed in exasperation. "Alright, alright! You can both come, if you can come right now. And if you'll just shut up and let me think! But I'm in charge. What I say goes. And don't you two roll your eyes at me, James Smith and Charles Homer! We're almost sure to have to break the law on this trip, so I'm the professional here!"

"Alright," said the Professor, "you don't have to be so prickly about it. You're the boss, just like at Devil's Hole."

"Oh great. Just what I need!" Heyes rolled his eyes skyward, remembering some of the disastrous things that happened with that bunch. "Why do you think we went straight?"

Heyes sent Jim to the Leutze clinic with a note telling Beth and Dr. Leutze where he was going. "I just hope," Heyes muttered as Jim left to deliver it, "that they don't both want to come, too. And Marie, too, I'll bet. What an expedition!"


	19. Chapter 19

Beth came back with Jim to see Heyes off, while Charlie Homer went to bid farewell to his long-suffering wife. It was becoming more and more evident to Heyes that Charlie Homer had a lot more experience with western adventures than one would have expected from a college mathematics professor. Heyes hoped to be able to give similar revelations to students of his own one day, although he hoped he would never be springing their cousins from jail!

Jim was bouncing off the walls with excitement. He was getting to go along on a real Heyes and Kid adventure out West! "Wow, Heyes, d-d-do you have a g-g-gun I c-c-can b-b-borrow? C-C-Can't wait t-t-to g-g-get there, g-g-get st-st-started!"His part in the one the previous Christmas had been much too small for his own taste. And no, Heyes did not have an extra gun for him. Professor Homer had his own gun, and what's more he had a holster and bullets for it, too.

But Beth looked very serious, as did Heyes. She knew that this was life or death and that Jim's joking around was annoying Heyes when he needed to concentrate on planning.

"Heyes," said Beth, "I know that you have to do this. I know a lot better than to try to stop you, and I know I'd just get in the way if I went along. But what can I do to help? What story do you want me to put around on why you have to be away?"

Heyes had been thinking about this while he packed his clothes and gear. "Since I would be holed up here studying all this coming week, if you can make it appear that I am still here for a few days, that will help to disassociate my absence with Charlie Homer's. Charlie's going to say there's been a death in his family back in Wyoming. Why don't we have me in the hospital with an infection in that injured hip? The doctor at the hospital and Dr. Leutze can help make that look real, as can you."

Beth nodded, "Since you're still limping some, so it would make sense to your friends. But they'll want to come visit you if it's just an infected hip – maybe you should have something catching instead?"

Heyes grinned, "You should have been an outlaw, Beth. You have a great head for it!"

"Well, thank you very much!" Beth sounded offended, but only mock offended. She smiled at her man, the famously devious former outlaw. "What about pneumonia, since no one outside your little circle of insiders knows you really already had it?"

"Sounds good to me. If you would talk to the doctor at the hospital where I was, and work out all the details, I'd be really grateful." Heyes stopped grinning and now did sound serious.

"You know I'll do anything I possibly can, Heyes! I know you'll be as careful as you can, right? And do your best to keep in touch with me?"

"I don't know if we'll be able to keep in touch, Beth, honey. I just don't know much about what we'll find there. I think we'll be staying with a friend of Charlie's – Theron Wiseman. He works at a ranch near there – the Crazy N, official address in Lodge Grass, but really a good ten miles outside it. At least we'll be there at first, Charlie thinks. We can't communicate with the man, so we're taking a whole lot on Charlie's faith. But that means we won't be within reach of telegraphs – which is why we can't find out if it will really work. And I'll be having to stay pretty far underground no matter what, since I'm back in the papers. We guess that whoever is behind this will be looking out for me specially. That's why I'm letting Charlie and Jim go along at all – I may not be able to work directly at all. It's a damn pain having my being me be such a problem, and not just for me! If only I could go back and do it all over again!"

Beth put her arms around Heyes and he gave her a long, deep kiss. "You can't go back, Heyes," she whispered, "so you just have to go forward!"

As the trio of rescuers set off, Beth looked out the window at their retreating forms in the gathering dusk. She sighed and whispered to herself, "Oh honey, why can't you lead a quiet life? I guess it's just not in your nature, and I love your nature. But sometimes I sure do wish we could just settle down and make babies!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooo

That night an oddly assorted but very close trio took a train west – one distinguished professor in his sixties, one clinic assistant in his twenties burdened with a bad stutter, and one brilliant former outlaw in his thirties who had turned mathematics student and was worried sick about his partner. They all three had a hard time getting to sleep as the train rattled on and on to the west. It seemed as if the train stopped every hour to take on more passengers who were unfailingly noisy.

The next day the trio of rescuers had an even harder time waking up than they had had falling asleep, but they had to eat breakfast and gather their assorted luggage. A little later in the day they transferred to a much smaller railroad line, with many fewer passengers, headed north and west towards Montana and Wyoming and points west.

Heyes looked around the new train carefully and nodded his head with satisfaction. He maneuvered his newly formed little gang into a car that everyone else had avoided. A single sleeping man was in the far end of the car. Judging from the extremely nasty smell, he was sleeping it off after a prodigious bender which had included a certain amount of throwing up and peeing on himself without any personal hygiene to mitigate the effects. Therefore people tended to avoid the car. If Heyes and company kept their voices low, covered by the rattle of the rather badly kept train they could consult together at the other end of the car with a fair degree of privacy.

Heyes friends got an assignment from the criminal master mind to keep them busy. Research, Heyes called it. Meanwhile Heyes soon had his feet up and his eyes closed, saying that he needed privacy to think. While Heyes "thought," Jim and the Professor patrolled the dusty train cars in search of newspapers from Montana and Wyoming and the wider region. This seemed at first like a fools' errand, since the New York trains they were used to riding in were neatly kept and any stray old newspapers were soon cleared away. On this small and neglected rail line's car, however, Jim and Charlie soon began to strike pay dirt. They found old newspapers stuck behind and under seats, stuffed into badly fitting windows, shoved to the back of luggage racks, and neglected under stacks of luggage. Many of the dozens of newspapers they found were damp or torn or stained, but Heyes wanted them all.

When the newspapers had been gathered, Jim and Charlie brought them back to Heyes. His "thinking" had developed into something pretty calm that involved snoring. The Professor cleared his throat tactfully and Heyes woke with a start. Though Jim rolled his eyes at his former roommate in irritation, Heyes was entirely unfazed at literally being caught napping. He smiled when he saw the stack of bedraggled newspapers. He and his companions now went to work unfolding their findings and looking through them carefully. They were, of course, in search any mention of Lodge Grass, Montana, and vicinity. They looked for anything about events there involving a stage robbery last November, Hannibal Heyes, Kid Curry, or any arrests or other suspicious activity at any date whatsoever.

There turned out to be very little news that mentioned Lodge Grass at all. Now and then there was a cowboy from a Lodge Grass ranch arrested for drunk and disorderly someplace, but other than that, the place seemed to exist utterly without incident. That is, until about a half and a half previous to their current date of May 2nd. In a little paper, the _South Montana Bugle_, dated April 28, citing the _Lodge Grass Trumpet_ as the source of the text, was the headline "Curry Fears Lynching." The tiny article read, "Notorious outlaw Kid Curry, who was recently arrested in Lodge Grass on charges of armed robbery and murder now fears he may be lynched. The streets of Lodge Grass are filled with an angry mob muttering against the outlaw, who was formerly known for avoiding committing murder. Now, however, that he is charged in the murder of personable local stage coach driver Jethro Mudge, Curry has entirely lost his popularity. Local Sheriff Herman Pohank has thus far kept his charge safe. However the sheriff, with only a single deputy at his command and a poorly built and equipped small office, fears that he may be unable to keep order for long."

Heyes read the article over and over, seeming to find far more significance in the short piece than anyone else did.

Then in a nasty, stained old paper they found an article from the _Daily Yellowstone Journal_, dated April 25th, again citing that it came from the Lodge Grass _Trumpet_. The Headline, rather larger than the later one they had just read, said "Kid Curry Arrested in Lodge Grass." The article stated, "Today Sheriff Herman Pohank of Lodge Grass, Montana, heroically brought in notorious outlaw Kid Curry. Pohank had been in search of Curry and his partner Hannibal Heyes since last November 13th, when the pair was described by a witness as having robbed the local stage, which was carrying a mine payroll. Popular local stagecoach driver Jethro Mudge was murdered during the robbery and passenger Harriet Cruces was tied up and very frightened but unharmed. Curry came quietly after the local sheriff outdrew the famous gunman, who had evidently returned to the scene of the crime fearing that he had left some evidence behind."

"Out d-d-drew him?" exclaimed Jim in astonishment.

Heyes and Charlie hissed at Jim to keep quiet, but the drunk at the other end of the car snored on serenely and no one else was near enough to have heard the outburst.

"Doesn't seem possible, does it, Jim?" said Heyes, shaking his head, "But here it is in black and white. Must be a young sheriff. Fast draw is a young man's game and the Kid's 32 now. It's been years since anyone claimed he was the fastest gun in the West. As you saw, Jim, he's still damn fast. But I guess they're men who're faster. I haven't met 'em, but then I've never met this Pohank. Never heard of him, either."

After searching through a number of rather nasty old newspapers, they finally found one more relevant one, dated April 23rd. It was from the _Daily Yellowstone Journal_, and again cited the Lodge Grass _Trumpet _as its source. The headline read, "Curry-Heyes Robbery Witness Found." The article said that "Harriet Cruces, the lone surviving witness of the Curry-Heyes stagecoach robbery outside of Lodge Grass, Montana, had vanished not long after the November 13th robbery. She has recently been found and is now in Lodge Grass being questioned. She had reportedly been suffering from amnesia and had forgotten her own name after she had been struck on the head during the robbery. She has now recovered her memory."

Heyes whistled. "Well, well! That's a dramatic story. Maybe it's why our mutual friend, as Lom calls him, decided he needed to go up there and fast."

"Sure does sound suggestive," agreed the Professor in a low voice, with a careful glance at the still sleeping drunk. "But I thought he had better sense."

"I did, too, but I've heard it said more than once that neither one of us is long on good sense," Heyes admitted. "They have been known to have a point there. But what makes me wonder is that it's in the newspaper. That kind of information ought to be kept secret until the trial!"

"That's true," the professor agreed, "but these small town courts and small town papers, I guess do some unprofessional things sometimes."

Heyes shrugged, but looked skeptical.

The next day, the trio got off the train in Montana, as near to Lodge Grass as they were going to get. They bought five horses at the local livery stable, and four saddles. They packed their gear on the fifth horse, and packed the food on the fourth, but hoped it would find a rider before their mission was over.

"I surely do wish, Professor, that you had been able to get in contact with your friend the poet before we got together to ride all the way out to the Crazy N to stay with him. He might not take kindly to me, or he might have left the ranch, or be sick, or any kind of thing. But I guess we've got no choice but to go on."

The Professor maintained stoutly, "If Theron Wiseman is alive and well, or even not so well, he'll take us in. You can count on him, boys. He lives in a little cabin on the outskirts of the Crazy N where no one goes but him, so he can keep us a pretty good secret. But it's a good thing we brought gear and food, cause he won't be counting on three or four extra men to keep."

Heyes and his two friends rode as hard as they could, for all none of them was in great shape for riding. They weren't following a road, but went cross county through the low grasses over the rugged hills. It was beautiful country, but as worried as they were, they didn't enjoy it as much as they might have. As they pulled up for a light early supper and a chance to rest their aching legs for a moment, the professor was staring at Heyes. Heyes was trying to grow a beard as a form of disguise, but in the few days that had passed since he used a razor, he hadn't made much progress. Cat had been right – the beard was growing in with a lot of grey and even some pale reddish hairs. If it had been long enough to be seen at more than a pace or two, though, it might have made more difference.

Homer looked at his advisee and shook his head. "You still look like Hannibal Heyes to me," he said.

"Of course I look like Hannibal Heyes. I am Hannibal Heyes!" said Heyes, who was a bit exasperated with his mentor. "I've got a disguise, but I don't want to use it yet."

"In c-c-case it looks st-st-stupid," said Jim with a smart-aleck grin.

"In case I need to change looks after we spring the Kid, you damn city boy," Heyes was exasperated with Jim, too. "That disguise has gotten me past more than one sheriff." He hated the process of earning the respect of a new gang. Jim seemed to think Heyes was too serious and needed some comic relief. What Heyes was was worried sick.

They got back in their saddles feeling very down. They were all mighty saddle sore when, past sunset, they pulled up to a tiny lone cabin with a single light showing.

A lean figure stepped out of the cabin with a rifle pointed at the newcomers in the fast fading light.

"Theron?" called the Professor, "It's me, Charlie Homer!"

"Charlie?" cried a deep baritone voice back. He seemed to peer at Charlie Homer as his eyes adjusted to the post-sunset dimness. "It is you! What in tarnation you doin' way out here? And who's these folks with you?"

Homer's voice sounded tired, "It's kind of a long story, Wiseman, but I'll vouch for my friends. Can we come in and talk?"

There was a nervous pause. "Alright, Charlie. If you rode all this way with 'em, I guess I can trust 'em, too. You boys come in and bring your saddles and gear. I'll put the horses in the corral with my ride." He opened a nearby fence and added the five tired horses to his own dozen. A windmill kept the watering trough full for the animals – the five who had been ridden all day made good use of it.

When all four men were in the small cabin, sitting on the cabin's two chairs and two cut log stools around an open fire, Theron Wiseman brought them some coffee. The newcomers shared with him their supplies, so he soon had more coffee brewing and some biscuits baking in the oven next to his fireplace.

"Well, whoever you are, you're right welcome," said the lean, grey-haired and grey-bearded cowboy poet. He looked all cowboy at the moment, with his weathered face and battered old hat and boots.

"Let me introduce my friends," said Charlie. "This is Jim Smith, who's from New York City." The old man and the young shook hands.

"Gl-gl-glad t-t-to m-m-meet you, Mr. Wiseman," said Jim, trying to keep a big grin off his face. He was openly thrilled to meet a cowboy poet. The poet didn't turn a hair at the scar-faced young man with his intense stutter, made worse by nervousness and weariness.

"And this, Theron," said Homer, indicating Heyes, "is the finest mathematics student I've taught in all my years in the classroom. He goes around as Joshua Smith and he'd thank you to use that name whenever you're in company."

"You can thank me all you like, but whether I'll take your advice depends upon you're tellin' me what his real name is," said Theron Wiseman cautiously, with a wary look at this stranger Charlie had brought with him.

Heyes, with a perfectly steady but not at all casual look and voice said, "My name, Mr. Wiseman, is Hannibal Heyes." He held out his hand toward his host.

There was a pregnant pause while Wiseman looked Heyes up and down. "If Charlie says I can trust you, then you're welcome here, Mr. Heyes."

"You can trust him – with your stock, your word, and your life," said Charles Homer firmly. Wiseman extended his weathered hand and Heyes took it gratefully.

"I appreciate that, Mr. Wiseman. I truly do," said Heyes gladly.

"You can pay me back by explaining how you came to study math with Charlie at Columbia, but I suspect there's other things you want to discuss first."

Heyes nodded. "I imagine you can guess why we're here."

"Then you imagine wrong, Heyes," answered Wiseman, "cause I got no idea."

The three newcomers exchanged surprised glances. "Have you been into town in the last couple of weeks, Theron, or heard word?" asked Homer.

"Sure have, Charlie. Got back from Lodge Grass just yesterday. And I spent a good few hours in the saloon listening to the gossip. Didn't hear no news about Heyes here, or the Kid neither, or any word of the Devil's Hole Bunch in any particular." Wiseman could tell that his words puzzled his listeners. They paused at that moment to share around some hot biscuits and all too small helpings of warmed over beef stew, since Wiseman hadn't been expecting company. They pieced out with some canned beans.

"You got me wondering, Theron," said the Professor. "We've read some newspapers said that Kid Curry was in jail in Lodge Grass about a robbery and shooting back in November. Said the local folks were all riled fit to lynch him. Are you tellin' me that isn't true?"

Wiseman looked startled at this information, "To the best of my knowledge, Charlie, it is utterly untrue. There's not a grumble in town and no hint of a word of the Kid. What paper you been reading?"

"_The Daily Yellowstone Journal_ and the _Southern Montana Bugle_, but both citing the _Lodge Grass Trumpet _as gospel," said Heyes.

"The _Lodge Grass Trumpet_?" asked Wiseman, quizzically, "dated when exactly?"

"April 23rd, 24th, and 28th," answered Heyes with complete confidence. He had committed the names and dates to his capacious memory.

"_The Lodge Grass Trumpet_? You sure of that?" asked Wiseman.

"Yeah, I'm sure," asserted Heyes, "I got the papers in my saddle bags – you're welcome to look at 'em."

Wiseman chucked, "No, if you're Charlie's best student, then I trust your memory fine. But you got me puzzled a fair bit, cause there ain't no such animal as the _Lodge Grass Trumpet _– not no more. Went out of business two weeks ago yesterday."

"You sound sure of that, Mr. Wiseman," said Heyes.

And Wiseman did sound sure. "I am. Not many would be – they didn't publish but once or twice a week kind of irregular – didn't always make an issue all during a week. So folks would take a while to miss 'em. But I know – it's why I was in town. I used to publish with 'em right regular. Or, as I say, as regular as a man could with such an irregular little paper. And I notice that every date you cited occurs during those two weeks they been out of business. Even allowing for a day or two delay from when they were reprinted, those dates ain't possible."

Heyes looked at Charlie and Jim in concern. "Mr. Wiseman," Heyes asked, "you said you were one of the few people who would know that the _Trumpet _had gone under. Who would the others be?"

"Hmn. Let's see," said Wiseman thoughtfully, "the publisher and editor, Joshua Jeffers; the printer, Ted Jeffers, his son; Willkie Sorenson who supplies the paper; Ren MacAvoy, the guy who writes . . . wrote for 'em most regular; and Jimmy Worth, the boy who distributed the papers. And I guess Worth Hawes, the guy who runs the saloon where most of the papers always were – and the offices were upstairs in his building. I think that'd be about it. Oh – and Herm Pohank, the Sheriff. He's the best news source in town. Must have talked to Jeffers most every day."

"That's a pretty careful list, seems to me," said Heyes. "I'll bet there's a clue or two there somewhere to what's been going on. It's quite the mystery. But two things I know – somebody's publishing fiction as fact and the Kid ain't at home."

"So where is the K-K-Kid?" asked Jim, visibly upset.

"I don't rightly know, but I'd lay odds he's not in the Lodge Grass jail," said Heyes.


	20. Chapter 20

Jim had been watching Heyes intensely through the whole discussion with Wiseman and the professor. There had been a decided transition between when Professor Homer was in charge, and the moment when Heyes had taken over. That had happened as soon as important information began to come out about the Kid's situation. It was as if Jim was seeing his former roommate for the first time – or the second. Most of the time that they had known each other, Jim's friend had been Joshua Smith, aphasia patient and math student and way better than decent poker player. Now, as he sat questioning Wiseman and preparing the information he needed to rescue his partner, the man was all Hannibal Heyes. He was in charge. He knew what questions to ask and how to build on each piece of information that came his way. It had been the same when he and the Kid had thrown the Teasdales out of Christy's Place – they might not be happy about what they were doing, but they were masters of it. Jim was riveted.

But now that the important things had been said and Heyes and the professor were merely explaining to Wiseman the old story of how Heyes and the Kid had gone straight and were going for amnesty, the drama had faded from the exchange. Jim yawned and curled up in his bedroll near the fire.

It was growing late and the details of the story would have to wait. Heyes and Homer, exhausted from their long ride, were yawning themselves. Particular plans would have to wait for the morning. Wiseman worked kind of irregularly for the Crazy N Ranch, but he would have to be up and out early to cope with the horses and to patrol some parts of the ranch he kept a particular eye on. So he begged off of any later talk and went to bed on his little cot while Heyes and the professor curled up in bedrolls on the wooden floor. It wasn't soft, but as Heyes pointed out, at least there were no roots or rocks or snakes to cope with.

The sun came up early as the spring was well advanced, and Wiseman was out not much later to look after his horses and ride around his end of the ranch in search of any trouble. After Wiseman left the cabin, Jim and the professor tried to go back to sleep for a little while. But Heyes moaned and slowly sat up. It had been months since he had ridden so far and longer than that since he had slept on a wooden floor. It seemed as if every muscle in his body was in its own state of agony. Heyes hated getting up early, but it made him nervous to have no one awake and actively guarding the cabin now that the day had started. Heyes bustled around the little cabin in his long underwear, setting some coffee going and warming some biscuits from the night before. He fried some bacon. Eventually the smells of breakfast roused the other two men, the young and the old. They sat around the poet's tiny table eating hungrily. Heyes, having started first, finished first.

"Charlie, do you know which way it is to town from here?" asked Heyes as he buttoned up his navy shirt.

"Yeah, but you aren't going that way, Heyes," answered Homer.

"Oh, you're back to being my advisor, are you?" Heyes sounded just a little irritated.

Homer answered calmly, "When you try to do some damn fool thing like just up and ride into the world's most obvious trap, yes. I'll advise you all I like. That skimpy little red beard of yours wouldn't fool anyone who knew your description, and someone around here sure does know it. If you show some sense – and a little restraint – then I might back off and see if you can come up with one of those Hannibal Heyes plans I've so much about."

"But I can't plan if don't know anything!" Heyes practically shouted, throwing his hands into the air with frustration. "I've got to get some facts. If the Kid isn't in the Lodge Grass jail, who is? Is the sheriff involved in this? What made the _Lodge Grass Trumpet_ go out of business? Did someone plan on that so they could use the name to put all those articles out across the West? Is this plan really run from here, or is the head guy someplace else? What are all the folks on Wiseman's list doing right now? How am I going to find out anything if I can't be seen by anybody?"

"We c-c-can d-d-do it for you, Heyes," said Jim. "You t-t-tell us what t-t-to d-d-do and we'll d-d-do it. Right Charlie?"

"Right, Jim!" agreed the professor. "Jim and I, and Theron can ask the questions for you, and watch people's reactions."

"I have to see them myself!" Heyes insisted.

"Not possible. Move on to the next possible variable to fit in that equation, Heyes," said the professor. "We have voices and eyes and ears just like you do. We can do exactly what you say and bring you the answers. Jim and I can do it, and Theron can be really helpful asking his newspaper pals about the _Trumpet_."

"Well, maybe you and Jim, but not Wiseman!" Heyes said firmly.

"Why in creation not, Heyes?" asked Charlie Homer. "He knows his way around better than any of us!"

"True, but if anyone figures out that he's asking questions he shouldn't be asking and links him to other people asking questions, like you two, then the whole operation gets blown. Everyone in Lodge Grass, especially around the paper, has got to know who Wiseman is and where he lives. If they can track us here, all our lives could be in danger. We can change headquarters, but Wiseman can't. We didn't come out here to get your friend killed, Charlie." Heyes had turned very serious. "And frankly, Charlie, if you couldn't figure that out without my help, I don't know if I can trust you to handle yourself on this job."

"D-d-do you r-r-really think whoever has the K-K-Kid would k-k-kill, Heyes?" asked Jim with his eyes very wide.

"Yes. Remember what this is about." Heyes looked back and forth between his two friends.

"What?" asked Jim, unsure what Heyes meant.

"Thirty thousand dollars," answered Heyes matter-of-factly. "And before you ask – yes, I've seen men die for less than that. And you've seen them die for that exact amount."

"The T-T-Teasdales?" Jim hadn't thought of their deaths in that light before.

"Yes."

"I thought it was for r-r-revenge."

"That was only part of it, Jim – probably a small part. After we hurt their pride, that money sounded a lot more appealing and they went for it. It's a lot of money." Heyes had given round figures like ten and twenty and thirty thousand dollars a good deal of thought. He knew what men – and women – would do for them.

"Is th-th-thirty th-th-thousand really worth a man's life?" Jim was asking himself as much as Heyes, but Heyes answered. This was one equation he could solve with terribly accustomed ease.

"Two men's lives – the Kids – and mine."

At that very emotional moment, they heard Theron Wiseman scraping his boots outside. He came in and smiled at them, stroking his beard, "You boys awake at last?"

"We are," said Charlie, "and we're ready to get to work, if Heyes will tell us what he needs done."

"First thing, Mr. Wiseman, if you could answer a couple of more questions?" asked Heyes.

"Sure thing, so long as you don't ask me to spy on my friends. If they ever found out, my life wouldn't be worth a plug nickel in that town." Wiseman hung his black hat on a peg and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee in his spatter pattern enameled metal cup.

Heyes put his hands up in a gesture of frustration. "The one man who understands the problem, and he's the one man I can't use! Other than me. Mr. Wiseman, do you know why the _Trumpet _went bust? Could someone have been trying on purpose to ruin it?"

Wiseman nodded, "Yes, Heyes, and you don't have to call me Mister. Someone was pushing them out'a business, I'm sure of that. Pushing hard, just the last month or so."

"Who?" Heyes was listening hard for this answer.

"Don't rightly know." Wiseman meditatively took another sip of black coffee. "Jeffers, neither pa nor son, the publisher or the printer, would say. Seemed right ashamed of the whole thing – worse than I'd expect from just a regular paper going down. Happens a lot out here, you know."

Heyes took this in and they could practically see the wheels turning. "Just in the last month. That's when it got into the papers that I was alive. Hmn. You think the guy making it hot for the _Trumpet_ was someone in town, or an out of towner."

Wiseman tilted his head and thought a moment. "Think they'd have to be from out of town. Nobody else in town gives a damn about newspapering, far as I know."

Heyes sat and thought for a while, sipping on his own coffee. Then he motioned for his fellow conspirators to come back and listen to him. "I've got your assignments for you. Professor, you're a newspaper reporter just passing through. Better make you from Wyoming, since you are. Go hang out in that saloon where the paper was put out, and anyplace else you think might be good to listen to gossip."

"Blacksmith's is usually pretty good for that," Charlie volunteered.

Heyes nodded. "You can pick out your spots when you see the town. Feel around to see if there is any talk at all of the Kid being arrested, here or anywhere, or any talk of lynching anybody at all. But the tough thing is, you can't ask directly. Otherwise you'll start the same rumor you're looking for! And you could make people start watching for the Kid – and for me! You have to find ways to hint around the edges and watch their eyes as much as you listen. Just feel around, real careful. And watch for disagreements – if some people seem just all nice and calm and somebody else is agitated, or wants you to be. That could be innocent versus conspirator. Whatever happens, if you catch the faintest whiff of anything about the Kid or arrests for violent crimes or lynching, ride out of town going real easy in another direction. Then circle back here fast as you can when you're sure – and I do mean absolutely positive – that you aren't being watched. And whatever you do, stay away from the sheriff's office! We don't want the sheriff or the deputy to get wind of you or to try to lead your wrong. They might be involved. Got all that, Professor?"

Homer gave Heyes a mock salute. "Yes, sir!"

"By the way, Wiseman, is it true, among all that fiction, that the sheriff here has just one deputy?" The poet nodded. "And is this man Pohank a fast draw?"

Wiseman spat into the fire. "He's pretty swift. Not that I think he could beat the Kid – not if what I hear is true – but he's decent fast. Kind of has to be, as I guess you know better than I do."

Heyes nodded. "There are slow sheriffs – but they generally have fast deputies! Jim, I'm going to ask some real acting of you – you got to tell me if you don't think you can do it. I think you can. You ride into town a lot like you did when you went to Louisville – be pretty much what you were then. Be an eastern tourist come to lap up the West! That's about all we can pass you off as and not get caught. Go into the saloon first and be all enthusiastic. I know you can carry that off. If you see Mr. Wiseman here or the Professor, or anybody else you know - you never saw them before. No smiles, no nods, no secret looks – nothing. Play it totally straight – assume you're being watching even if you're sure you aren't. Tell them you're camping out in the hills – just make sure you're staying far from here! Ask Mr. Wiseman for likely spots.

Jim, your real assignment will be the sheriff's office. You're going to go in there and stare around like a total greenhorn – even more than you really are."

"Not a green h-h-horn any m-m-more!" smiled Jim.

"Oh yes, you are!" grinned Heyes back, "And we'll use that to our best advantage, so don't mess with it! Go stare around the sheriff's office – look at the wanted posters – see if they have posters out on the Kid and me. If they do have ours up, memorize what they say, if you can do it without being obvious. There are several versions and I really need to know which one – the descriptions vary quite a bit."

"I c-c-can d-d-do it!" nodded Jim.

"Good!" Heyes went on, "OK, then the really important stuff starts, all the while you play dumb and ask silly questions. First off, see who's in the cages – if anyone is. If it's the Kid or someone who looks like him or who. And if it's the Kid, his life could, and your life sure does, depend on your not knowing him from Adam. Again – no shared looks, no winks or nods – nothing. He'll know what's going on and can act as well as any Booth on the stage. And make sure to notice how he is, if he's there, which I doubt. But if he is – make sure that, even if he's pretending to be asleep – you try to figure out if he's hurt or drugged or anything like that." Jim nodded, paying utterly close attention.

"And then, if he's not there, you've got to find a casual way to drop the Kid's name and, if you can manage it without pushing it, my name, too. Do it so you can watch the eyes of the sheriff and his deputy, if he's there. Watch those eyes! If they look startled or nervous or glance at a back room or a window or anything like that, let me know every detail. You can't look as if it's important to you, but it's got to be vital to you. If the sheriff's involved, we've got to know it." Jim nodded again. "And you do know – I assume you know – that you've got to watch that office before you go in – to make sure the sheriff is there. They got out and patrol a lot."

"Of c-c-course!" exclaimed Jim.

"What's sheriff Pohank look like, Wiseman?"

The poet gave his answer to Jim, "Middle height – about like Heyes, here. Black wavy hair. Big, long nose. Fuzzy mustache. And a yin star, don't you know!" Wiseman winked at Jim. "Deputy's bigger guy, brown straight hair, scar down his neck. Only other guy with a star."

"Thanks, Wiseman!" said Heyes. "And both of you, being watching for anybody on Wiseman's list – you got those names by memory? Joshua Jeffers, the publisher and editor; the printer, Ted Jeffers, his son; Willkie Sorenson who supplies the paper; Ren MacAvoy, the reporter, Jimmy Worth, the boy who distributed the papers; and maybe he's a relative Worth Hawes, the guy who runs the saloon. Wiseman, if you can give us a description of each guy, please."

The other three stared at Heyes. Jim and even the professor would have been hard-pressed to have remembered one or two names from that list they had heard the night before when they were exhausted and distract. Heyes had the list of men memorized perfectly, just as Wiseman had given it to him.

"Heyes," said the professor, "you have the dangest memory I've ever come across in all my years in academia! No, we do not have that list memorized!"

Heyes wrote it out for them, while Wiseman described each man in his cogent way. Heyes and the professor helped Jim to memorize the list, using memory tricks they had learned to use on tests. Neither man could dare to carry such a list with him – if dropped it could be very dangerous.

"I'm r-r-ready, Heyes!" said Jim proudly, the list principal suspects committed to memory.

"No you aren't, Jim." Said Homer. "You don't yet know how to get back here or when."

"Oh." Said Jim, realizing there was more to this than he thought.

"Professor's right," said Heyes. "But before you come back here, go back to the saloon and drop the Kid's name and mine, watching around real careful. Don't do it too close to the Professor – don't want him damned by association. And watch the eyes. If anyone jumps or looks nervous or sneaks out or anything at all, memorize it all and tell us. Wiseman can help us to figure out who it was – so pay attention to what the guys who react look like. Then ride out while it's well still light and get here kind of round about. Even if you got big news, unless it's life or death fast news, you can't come straight in. I'd say watch you aren't tailed, but it'd be no good – doubt you could spot a tail."

"I sure c-c-could! Easier out here in th-th-the open than in t-t-town!" Jim asserted his skills proudly.

Heyes nodded. "Guess you got a point there, Jim. Now what name you gonna use – and don't forget it!"

"Jim Hoines – how's that? Hoines was an old f-f-friend and I want a f-f-first name I c-c-can't mess up." Jim looked at Heyes eager for approval.

Heyes smiled, "So long as it doesn't turn up on one of those books of yours!" Jim shook his head, but grinned.

"And I'll be Hollister McCord," said the professor. "He was an old friend of mine – always loved that name and wanted an excuse to use it. He's dead, so he can't use it himself any longer."

After that, Heyes helped his friends to get their back stories straight, quizzed them on their names and assignments, and helped them to adjust their clothing and gear to their new characters.

"You really ought to be a great professor, Heyes!" said Homer admiringly. "Or maybe a theatrical director! You can teach and direct like nobody's business!"

Jim grinned at Charlie Homer. "Wow, we're p-p-part of a real Hannibal Heyes p-p-plan!"

"Hope it works out better than the one that got them both shot!" said Homer, as Jim rode off. Jim was proud to lead the way. Heyes wanted to be sure the two didn't ride along together or arrive in town too close together. The professor had a lingering cup of coffee and a little early lunch with Wiseman before he rode off an hour later.

After he watched his advisor ride away, Heyes turned to his host. "Gosh, do you think I told 'em all they need?"

"If I didn't, I'd have told you, a course!" said Wiseman. "Now I got to ride out for a while. I'll be back by noon."

Heyes neatened his packed clothing, went to look after his horse, nervously looked at his still very short beard in Wiseman's tiny shaving mirror, and generally paced around in an agony of nervousness. He had no idea what to do with himself while he waited for his intelligence to come back in, desperately hoping his friends would be safe. And he was about to perish of anxiety and curiosity about where the Kid was – and how he was.


	21. Chapter 21

Heyes didn't spend all day pacing and fretting. Knowing the time that Wiseman said it would take a horseman to ride to and from town, he waited about four hours before saddling up two horses and getting carefully packed saddle bags on them. Heyes worried that a sudden rescue might be needed if one or both of his friends came riding back in a hurry. He didn't think there was much chance of it, but any chance at all meant Heyes had to be ready. He stayed as ready as he could for hour after hour, even while he sat under a tree on that very pretty day and read through one of the notebooks he had brought. He was still hoping that this whole thing would be resolved quickly enough for him to get back to New York, take make up exams, and go on to summer classes. So he wasn't about to let all his school subjects go totally out of his mind.

Just after sunset a lone horseman on a tired bay horse loped down the trail from the direction of Lodge Grass. It was Jim. He dismounted stiffly and put his horse in the pen behind the cabin. Heyes came out of the cabin in a hurry. "Jim! You alright? Where's Charlie?"

"I'm f-f-fine, Heyes," Jim was yawning and stumbling with weariness as he walked towards the cabin. "Charlie's f-f-fine, t-t-too, last I s-s-saw. He f-f-figured he'd b-b-better st-st-stay the night in the h-h-hotel. No excuse to c-c-come out here."

"Whoa, boy, what're you doing? I heard you lope up. Your horse is still sweaty! You've got to walk him out before he gets water – just like I taught you on Long Island. Go get him – now! He's heading for the trough!" Heyes wondered how Jim had come to be so careless, after their careful lessons.

"B-B-But I g-g-got news!" Jim said, even as he hurried to get his horse.

"You can tell me while we walk that horse. Wiseman's cooking dinner, so we can't ask him." Heyes took the reins of the horse and walked him slowly around the edge of the field while Jim walked on the far side of the horse and talked.

"Sorry about the h-h-horse! J-J-Just forgot! B-B-But g-g-gosh I'm t-t-tired, and all I've d-d-done is t-t-talk and listen!" yawned Jim.

"That's the tension. Running a job always tired us out, even when we were used to it. Paying attention that hard for hours on end is exhausting. You're new to it, so it's worse. I hope you never have a chance to get used to it!" Heyes chuckled. "Now how about that news?"

Jim grinned, but kind of uneasily. "I went t-t-to the sheriff's office just like you s-s-said, all innocent. No K-K-Kid in the c-c-cage! Just d-d-drunk and d-d-disorderly b-b-bout twice his size."

"That's good news – I think – but go on," Heyes said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice.

"B-B-Both of your p-p-posters up! Fift-t-teen thou. D-D-Dimple, no neck mark. D-D-Dropped b-b-both your names – asked any news on your b-b-both. Sheriff d-d-didn't t-t-turn a hair said, "No." Seemed he'd heard the question b-b-before, b-b-but d-d-didn't worry him. B-B-But the d-d-deputy! He looked t-t-tense – b-b-bit his lip, looked at the sheriff and then away fast– out the window."

Heyes was listening to every syllable and now he looked at least as tense as the deputy as he asked, "Did you ask more about us?"

"D-D-Didn't d-d-dare," Jim looked anxiously into Heyes' eyes – and saw relief there.

Heyes flashed a quick grin, "Good man! They wouldn't have told you anything but lies, and the question would've tipped them that you have a special interest. Did you ask about other posters?"

"Of course! B-B-Before and after yours!" Jim was not bad at this at all!

"The window the deputy looked out – which way does it face?" Heyes hoped there was a clue here, if only a vague one.

Jim thought for a moment, picturing the scene in his head. "North." He nodded – he was sure.

"But what about Charlie? And what about the other guys you were supposed to watch?" Heyes was about going crazy waiting for Jim to stutter through each answer, although truthfully the man was getting better month by month and he wasn't in a bad state at all during this interrogation.

"I heard m-m-most of what went on at the saloon, I think. Nothing on the K-K-Kid, no lynching t-t-talk. Only one r-r-robber brought in last month – stage hold up, but not match t-t-taken. P-P-Publisher, J-J-Jeffers and his son – they just sounded mad. M-M-MacAvoy, the r-r-reporter, c-c-came b-b-by, p-p-played p-p-poker with me and some guys a while. B-B-Bad p-p-player – usually b-b-better I think. Seemed d-d-distracted. D-D-Didn't like having Charlie there – rival newsman, you know." Jim stopped and looked at Heyes carefully as he got ready to deliver some news. "I think he's t-t-trying to find out same thing we are – asked out loud why other p-p-papers had st-st-story he d-d-didn't have! Said sheriff wouldn't say anything – c-c-couldn't say where the lies came from!"

Heyes had more questions, but the horse was walked out by then and both men were hungry for beef stew that they could smell cooking in the cabin. So they went in and Heyes summarized Jim's answers for Wiseman. Jim told about how Sorensen the paper supplier came by and joined the poker game, but he didn't seem upset at all. Jimmy Worth the paper boy dropped by to see if his uncle Worth Hawes who ran the saloon needed anything, but Jim hadn't noticed anything unusual there.

Heyes, however, was plenty nervous and distracted. "There's sure something going on! But I don't have enough information to do anything! I don't suppose you got any signal from Charlie about what he was getting or when he'll be back?"

"No – you t-t-told us n-n-not t-t-to talk or even look at each other!" Jim was a bit annoyed at the question.

"So I did," said Heyes with a wink, "but men have been known to go against orders."

The next morning Jim got up about dawn and got a quick breakfast before riding into town to hang around and see what else he could discover.

"Be careful!" Heyes called after him as he rode away with his shadow long before him in the early morning light. The former outlaw felt like somebody's mother, trying to protect her boy and unable to do anything about it. He kept a pair of horses ready in the corral, wondering when Charlie might ride in and when Jim would be back.

It was getting late in the afternoon when Charlie appeared on a dusty chestnut mare, walking slowly. As soon as Charlie had the saddle and bridle off of her and had her safely corralled, he headed to the pump outside the cabin to wash the dust off himself. Heyes met him there. "Well?" the Kid's partner asked. "What'd you learn? What happened? Jim alright?"

"Jim's fine – he seems born for this kind of game. You wouldn't believe how good he was." Heyes nodded – he was starting to believe. "There are any number of suspicious men in and out of that town. Down at the black smith's shop, there were all kinds of rumors about strange reporters and law men in and out because of those newspaper stories the last couple of weeks. Whole place has the jumps looking for you, Heyes. And they're all wondering where the Kid really is since the sheriff won't say anything except that it's all a lie. There's no solid rumor about what's really going on, and sure no talk of lynching. But I came back fast 'cause I think I might be onto something. That reporter, MacAvoy, seems a nervous man. Keeps losing at poker."

"Yeah, Jim noticed that." Heyes agreed.

"And his friend Gunther – don't know his first name – rode in early in the morning all dusty and had something pressing to tell his pal. Woke him up in his hotel room. Then they rode away together. Both came back couple hours later. But while they were gone, rumors were flying. Seems MacAvoy's been in town and then riding out every evening and back in the morning for about the last week, maybe week and a half, depending upon whether you belief the paper boy or the blacksmith or the madam at the saloon."

"That's about right for when the Kid vanished," Heyes said very quietly, "Which way does he ride out of town?"

"North." The word was hardly out of the professor's mouth before Heyes was running toward the corral, putting his hat on his head. "Wait," Charlie Homer cried after him, "where are you going?"

Heyes answered as he mounted up, "North was the way the deputy looked when Jim said the Kid's name to him! Maybe they're in cahoots, I don't know. But if somebody's riding out of town every day, maybe they're riding off to where they've got the Kid stashed! An out of work reporter could sure make hay off the Kid and me and those stories! He could be lying through his teeth about the story he can't get!"

The professor was running back towards the corral himself, "That's what I figured, too! Wait, Heyes! I was going to change horses and try to track him – since he would be about ready to leave by the time I can get there! You can't go, Heyes! Every man, woman, and child in that town is looking for you!"

Heyes called back to his professor from horseback, "I got to! Everyone in town knows your face now, and Jim's! And they all know Wiseman anyhow. With this beard, maybe they won't figure me out – in the dark. Anyway, no time to argue – I'm going and you ain't! That's orders!" And with that Heyes necked reined his black horse hard and rode off at a lope into the late afternoon sun, leading a saddled horse behind him. Wiseman, hearing his friend Charlie's yell, came out and the two graying men shook their heads as they watched Heyes vanish into the hills. As headstrong as he was, they knew there was no use in trying to stop him. When Jim rode in an hour later, he had not crossed Heyes' path. It was all they could do to keep him from riding back into town after Heyes.

"Heroes and young men!" muttered Wiseman. "Damned fools, all!" It sounded to Charlie like the first lines of some epic western poem.

More than two hours after Heyes had ridden west toward Lodge Grass, the sun was nearly gone. Heyes had stashed his horses behind a shed and some trees just beyond the northernmost streets of the little town of Lodge Grass. He found a hidden spot where he could watch the road north out of town. It was getting so late that he figured he must have missed MacAvoy entirely – maybe the man had left town before Heyes ever arrived.

Heyes finally caught sight of a lone horseman heading north. He was close enough to the road to get a good look at the horseman riding north – he was sure it was the dark-haired, dark-eyed, short, lean, thin-lipped man in a short-brimmed black hat that Wiseman had described as Ren MacAvoy. He was the reporter who was now out of work – but perhaps had found another way to make money.

As soon as MacAvoy was far enough gone, Heyes fetched his horses and cautiously rode north. He followed the reporter very distantly, mostly by faint sound and rising dust in the gathering dusk. As the sky grew black, Heyes dared to follow a little more closely, very cautiously keeping quiet. When he had rigged the horses the day before, and re-checked them that day, he had carefully wrapped buckles and parts of the bridles and saddles that could have clinked or squeaked. Soon there was only a crescent moon and the myriad western stars for Heyes to see by. The trail MacAvoy was following slowly wound into the sparsely wooded hills northwest of town.

Finally, Heyes saw a light flare ahead. There was some kind of a building. Heyes dismounted and crept up close, moving from bush to tree to bush, staying hidden but watching.

MacAvoy rode up to a little cabin, dismounted, and tied up his horse out front. A door creaked as it opened. Someone was there to let MacAvoy in. A voice carried into the quiet darkness. It was a woman's voice. She was laughing in a way that sounded familiar – not the voice, but the general manner. As MacAvoy answered her, he was laughing, too. There was no tension in either voice – only affection and eagerness.

Heyes exhaled in disappointed frustration. This wasn't the site of a kidnapping or any evil doing – it was a love nest! MacAvoy had been riding out to meet his lover, and nothing more. Just in case it could be a combination of a love nest and a kidnapping, Heyes stay to watch and listen for a while. But no, judging by the shadows through the lace curtains, and then by what he could hear, nothing but lovemaking was going on in that cabin. Heyes felt jealous, thinking of the woman he had left behind. But mostly he felt disappointed and frustrated – and damned foolish. He was no closer to finding the Kid than he had been a day before. For him, if not for MacAvoy, the night had been wasted. Heyes carefully crept back to his horses and mounted up. He rode slowly and quietly to make sure he couldn't be heard by the lovers in the cabin. When he was safely away from the isolated cabin, Heyes took up a lope toward Lodge Grass.

Heyes rode near to town, trying to find the way he had come from Wiseman's place on the edge of the Crazy N Ranch. The last thing he wanted was to get lost in the hills of Montana! As Heyes neared the lights of town, he thought he heard hoof beats coming behind him. "That MacAvoy works fast!" he thought. Heyes stopped and took his horses off the road behind some bushes to watch whoever it was riding rapidly out of the north into Lodge Grass. But it wasn't MacAvoy. It was a more slender figure not wearing a hat. Heyes dismounted and crept into town to see where the lone horseman went. He went toward the Lodge Pine saloon.

But it wasn't a he – it was a she. A slender blonde woman in a long, dark cloak got off the horse and led it to a small stable behind the saloon. A few minutes later, she emerged from the stable and went in a back door of the saloon, looking carefully around her. There was no way to figure out where she had come from, but it was somewhere north of Lodge Grass. How many people had secrets north of a town this small? It seemed to Heyes that perhaps he hadn't wasted the night after all.


	22. Chapter 22

Heyes jimmied Wiseman's primitive lock and tip-toed through the door of the cabin in the dark, carrying his boots to avoid making too much noise. It was a vain hope.

"Who k-k-kicked me?!" howled Jim from his bedroll near the cabin door.

"Sorry," Heyes whispered.

"Would you shut up? I've got to be up at dawn, and I'm guessing maybe you all do too!" Wiseman moaned.

"Sorry!" whispered Heyes and Jim almost together.

"Since we're all awake, we might as well get the story, Heyes," said the professor in a low voice. He, being closest to the fire, sat up and picked up a poker. He stirred the fire so that its soft red glow illuminated the four men and they felt a bit warmer in the cool Montana night.

Heyes spoke just above a whisper as he climbed into his own bedroll, wishing he had a softer place to sleep. "You guys have been doing a great job and then I went and wasted it. I tracked MacAvoy to a little cabin north of town – where he was meeting his gal for a roll in the hay! But when I got back to Lodge Grass, a woman was riding in from the north and she went in the back of the saloon. So maybe she's coming back from where the Kid is? Don't know."

"You sure it wasn't the woman MacAvoy was meeting, coming back into town?" asked a yawning Wiseman.

"I thought of that!" Heyes sounded a little defensive. "But there was some lamp light when this gal went into the saloon and I got a peek at her – she was a blonde, tall for a woman – maybe five foot seven or so. I didn't get much of a look at the reporter's squeeze in the dark and through the curtains, but she was dark haired and shorter than this blonde."

"What do you want us to do, Heyes?" asked Charlie Homer.

Heyes, yawning, sat up in his bedroll and thought for a moment before he spoke. "Can you two go back into town and sniff around some more? I hate to ask it, but as soon after dawn as you can."

"Sure, Heyes," said Jim and the professor nodded. They weren't going to hold back their help now, no matter how sleepy they were.

Heyes went on, "You guys are the best! I don't know what the Kid and I are ever going to do to thank you, all three, but something good."

"Try st-st-staying out t-t-trouble for five minutes straight!" suggested Jim.

"And really getting amnesty and finishing your degrees!" added Charlie Homer.

"And lettin' me do a poem about you guys - and not suin' me for it!" chimed in Wiseman.

"I'll do my best for all three and try to get the Kid to go along," said Heyes with a laugh, "but that first one has always been real hard for us to manage! And first, we got to get the Kid free."

"Right!" agreed Homer, "but meantime, we got to get some sleep. So if you can get along with giving us our orders for the morning, maybe we can get a few hours snooze before the sun comes up. I guess you can sleep in."

"Not likely!" snorted Heyes. "Like I said, if you both can get back to town in the morning as early as you can manage, it might be real helpful. If someone's taking food and stuff to the Kid, they'll probably go morning and evening - unless someone's always there. The sooner we find the Kid, the better, so if we can spot that morning run, all the better. I'd really like to go into town myself to see if I can spot this blonde woman . . ."

"No, Heyes!" said Homer. "I mean it! If you get hauled in or shot, all our work's for nothing!"

Heyes signed. "You ain't my father, but alright. I didn't get much of look at her in the dark under that long cloak, anyway. I told you she's tall. And kinda thin and wore her hair up but it was coming down and trailing out of her hood. Not much to go on in a saloon where, with the usual bleach jobs, they probably have a bunch of blondes. If you can possibly hear of a woman who's been seen going out, or has a lover in the newspaper business, or is in love with the sheriff or the deputy – well, you can figure the combinations. And more of the same snooping. Just listen and prod a little. And watch out the window for that sheriff and that deputy! If one of them rides north of town, or anyplace kind of sneaky, come back and let me know, one of you. If you find anything, go round about and get back here without leading anyone in after you. I'll be waiting, ready to ride!

Now, we all got to get back to sleep or you'll be falling off your horses in the morning. North! We got darn little to prove that's the way, but seems it might be right. Poor Kid, waiting for us! I just hope, boys, that . . ." Everyone knew what he meant- he hoped that the Kid wasn't already dead. Wanted dead or alive surely did hold out that possibility.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The professor and Jim arrived in town only a few minutes apart at about 7:00 – later than they wanted, but earlier than they felt like. It meant that both had had to wake up before 5:00, an hour before the sun was up. The Professor, still yawning, rode out to the road north of town and found the same shed and bunch of trees where Heyes had hidden. He watched the road and nibbled on a piece of jerky, his very early breakfast at Wiseman's cabin having been all too cursory.

Meanwhile Jim feasted on bacon and hash browns and eggs in the saloon. The girls who worked there hadn't come down yet – it was far too early for such night workers to be up. So Jim hadn't seen anyone who could be the mysterious blonde woman. He sat near the window, trying to keep an eye on the road and sheriff's office, which was across the street, without being obvious about it. Not long after Jim started to dig into his generous second breakfast, a familiar form barged through the swinging doors into the saloon and loudly demanded breakfast. It was, unmistakably, the drunk and disorderly who had been sleeping it off in the cage in the sheriff's office when Jim had been there the day before.

"What that boy's having looks good – get me some of that! Eggs and bacon and those potato things!" the big, overweight, graying man yelled to the bar keep who was doing duty as a waiter for the sparse morning crowd.

The loud-mouthed customer's accent, which Jim hadn't heard when he had been asleep in jail, sounded terribly familiar to Jim. Fortunately, he didn't have to ask about it. An out of town reporter Jim had met yesterday who was leaning on the bar downing a stack of flap-jacks and a steak asked what Jim was wondering. "Where you from, man? I'm just in from Butte, myself. Ain't heard anybody talk like you before."

"Boston!" answered the big man, who was eagerly looking towards the kitchen in search of breakfast. "Was in the newspaper business and thought I'd come out West to see if I could make a go of it here."

Hawes, the saloon owner, stepped out of the kitchen with the Boston man's plate in his hand. When he saw the customer, he stopped and glared. Hawes' his green eyes fairly sparking with fury beneath a mop of red hair that perpetually stood on end, from what Jim had seen, shouted. "Bentley! Eat your eggs, pay us, if you can, and get out of here! After what you did to Jeffers and the _Trumpet_, I ought to toss you out without breakfast, but I don't want customers to think I got no respect for people who pay their bills. If you do!"

"I can pay!" snarled Bentley, between forking his breakfast into his mouth. "If you don't believe me, ask my son!" He gestured toward the sheriff's office across the street. Jim searched his memory to see if anyone had ever mentioned the deputy's name to him – the man did look a bit like a younger and much less burley version of Bentley. At that moment, the door to the kitchen swung open for a moment as Hawes turned and went back to his work, still fuming. Before the door shut, Jim caught the briefest glimpse of a tall, slender, blonde woman putting food into a bucket. A few minutes later, Jim saw through the back window that the woman, clad in a dark cloak against the dark chill, was riding away with the lidded bucket tied behind her saddle. She was on the road that went north out of town.

Jim was hardly done with his breakfast yet, but he plunked down the appropriate coins on the table and walked to the door, hardly resisting the urge to run. "Where you going, Hoines?" called the bartender after him.

"Sick friend!" said Jim as he left, only belatedly realizing that this was utter nonsense for a man from out of town. This outlaw stuff wasn't as easy as it seemed!

Jim untied his horse and mounted up faster than he had ever yet done. He rode north. Shortly he passed the shed and trees where the professor was keeping vigil. Jim heard his name whispered urgently and he stopped.

"Jim!" said the professor softly as he stepped out from behind the trees. He looked up at his young friend still on horseback. "Did anyone see you leave the saloon a bit too quick?"

"Yeah! They all did." admitted Jim, talking so fast there was hardly time to stutter, "The guy I saw in jail yesterday is a newspaper man from Boston, father of the deputy, and he's the guy who drove the _T-T-Trumpet _out of business! Just after he got in the saloon, that blonde woman rode off with breakfast!

"Thought so – let me tail her," ordered Professor Homer, "You go get Heyes. We got 'em dead to rights this time. But there's got to be a lock or two involved, and maybe a gun or two, so we need Heyes."

"Alright!" Jim whispered, and turned his horse to the east toward the Crazy N Ranch. He rode off at a gallop. The professor mounted up and rode off to the north at a far more cautious pace. Trailing a person in broad daylight in fairly open country wasn't always easy! He was just glad for the bits of woods and bushes here and there. Also, the day was clouding over fast. It was an unusually warm May morning with breezes stirring often; it seemed like a thunderstorm might come up any time. This could be all to the good, thought the professor as he rode north.

Jim found Heyes trotting on the road into town, leading a spare horse. He was about half way to Lodge Grass by the time Jim found him. The two pulled off the road behind some tress and Jim quickly told Heyes what he had seen and heard in the saloon that morning.

Heyes kept his voice soft but practically growled, as if the big Boston man was right there to hear his anger, "Conspiracy between the law and the press! I knew it! Hate 'em both. Boston – must have friends there still so he knew as soon as I was 'resurrected.' Little conspiracy got going soon as he heard – once the first time he tried in November didn't fetch us up here. Came out West to try his luck – bet it was bad luck. He's in debt and wants $30,000.00 to pay it off and maybe live real nice afterward! Yeah, it all adds up. Wonder who the girl is, though."

Jim just nodded. It was no surprise to him that Heyes and the Kid had no warm feelings for the press and the law. It told him a lot about what life was like on the other side of the law. Those two forces that most people felt were on their side, or at least should be, were decidedly not working on behalf of these two men.

Heyes set off to the north at a trot to get a little distance between himself and Jim. The two had to separate so people wouldn't see "Joshua Smith" with Jim "Hoines." He asked Jim to wait a few minutes before he followed – to the gratitude of Jim's horse, which was a bit winded. It was an exercise in patience for Jim just to walk for so long, knowing the Kid was probably somewhere up that road. Both Jim and Heyes were anxious, guessing that the Kid was not in very safe circumstances. Dark clouds continued to gather overhead and the wind shifted uneasily.

Jim had time to think as he rode, wondering at how he ever got involved in a real Hannibal Heyes plan – and could get caught in the danger, too. Things had seemed just fun before, but now they were serious. Locks and guns, the professor had said. That was Heyes territory for sure – and territory where Jim felt uncertain and frankly frightened. Yet he was thrilled, too. He wished he dared to tell any of his other friends about this adventure – but he guessed that talking about it to Heyes and Beth and Dr. Leutze would be enough. But most of all, he worried about the Kid. What was he going through? Not, apparently, being starved, and maybe not beaten. But the Kid, wherever they had him locked up, must be uncertain and frightened and apart from all his friends. Jim couldn't wait to see him and help everything be alright again – if they could.

A half hour later, Heyes saw the professor riding ahead of him. As he got within ear shot, Heyes used a little yip to urge his horse on. The professor looked back and saw him. Heyes gestured for Homer to slow down so he could catch up. As Heyes caught up he whispered, "What's the news?"

Charlie answered in a very low voice, "Straight and true on this faint path – she and I guess other people, too, must go on this path every day, so you can follow it easy. She isn't keeping that good a look out, but she does look around some. She's maybe 150 yards ahead, more now I've slowed down."

"Good. I'll take over from here, if you can go back and check on Jim. He said he didn't exactly keep his fast exit a secret and I wouldn't be surprised if somebody might be on his tail. Keep that gun of yours handy, Prof. You might need it." Then Heyes spurred his horse ahead to catch up a bit to the blonde woman. Charlie turned and rode back down the trail carefully. He knew what Heyes was doing – he was careful of not just Jim's safety, but Charlie Homer's safety as well. There might be real danger up ahead if someone besides that blonde woman was watching Kid Curry. Heyes didn't want anyone but himself, and inevitably the Kid, to be exposed to that danger.

Before long, Heyes caught sight of the girl up ahead. She had taken off the cloak as the sun rose. She was riding astride in pants and rode well, but, as Charlie had said, she wasn't keeping too much of an eye out. She mostly looked ahead, eagerly, urging her mount to a faster walk. It was clear to Heyes that their destination was close.

Soon the blonde woman broke out of the trees that had been around the path and rode into a little clearing. It was easy for Heyes to take shelter behind the trees and watch. He dismounted and ground tied the horses well off the path and away from the clearing in a spot where there was some juicy undergrowth for them to browse on. That would keep them quiet, he hoped. Then he crept back to see where the woman was going.

In the clearing there was a group of buildings – it appeared to be the tumbled-down complex around an old mine entrance. The woman looked around, then went to someplace behind one of the more derelict buildings. It was impossible for Heyes to see or properly hear what was going on, but he heard what sounded like a click and perhaps two or just possibly three different muffled voices. One was surely the woman's and another was a man's. He could have sworn that the most muffled male voice was the Kid's – he couldn't hear the words or even the tone, but only the rhythm of the words. So it was only by knowing him so well that Heyes could guess at the speaker. Heyes wished he dared to creep closer, but there was no place where he could see what was going on, so far as he could tell, without exposing himself to view. So he just waited. It seemed like forever, but by his battered old pocket watch it was only about ten minutes before the woman returned to view. She turned back to where she had come from and said, "Good-bye! See you tonight!" This was followed by a couple of clinks, but no voice replied.

Heyes pulled back into the densest bushes and watched the woman ride away. A few minutes later, he heard two loud clicks and the creak of a door opening, followed by some kind of disturbance in the underbrush. Then there was the soft sound of a flowing liquid. Heyes smiled. He could guess what was going on – but was it the Kid peeing or his guard – or both? If it was just the guard, this would be the best time to strike, if it was the Kid, it could be the worst. Heyes took the opportunity to go to where the woman had gone before – the front door, he guessed. He crept carefully, peering around the corner of the falling down building behind which the woman had disappeared. Yes – there was a small shed there with no windows and a heavy wooden door. As Heyes got closer, he could see that it was locked with a large pad lock, but also a dead bolt. There was not going to be a way to open that quietly. He could hear the disturbance behind the building continuing. He dared to start to creep silently around the side of the building, but then he heard two sets of footsteps, a startlingly close male voice saying "Move along!" and then a door slamming and two dead bolts sliding shut. Heyes heart was pounding so hard he worried that the Kid's guard might hear it.

Heyes crept around the shack, looking at all sides. There was only one window – on the right side from the way he had first approached – with a heavy black shade on the inside covering it. Heyes couldn't look in that way, but whoever was inside could look if they pushed the shade back. So Heyes avoided it. He went back to the front door, which seemed like the easiest to open. But then he heard movement inside – so Heyes rapidly snuck around the other side of the building to get out of sight. He was just in time to avoid being seen by a man Heyes couldn't see but only hear who went out the front door, yelled back, "Just settle down, you!" and then closed the door, and locked the deadbolt and the pad lock. Then the man vanished into the mine complex, although Heyes could still hear him. Shortly, Heyes heard the man riding away by the same path on which Heyes had come. It was ominously silent inside the shed.

Heyes stayed around the side of the building for a few minutes waiting in silence. Would another guard appear, or had they left the Kid alone? It seemed terribly unlikely that three people were watching over him, though in a conspiracy of this size, it was possible. So Heyes waited and listened. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Heyes looked carefully around the whole old mine complex. There was no sign of any more people. He went back and checked on the horses and looked down the path. The horses were fine – and there was no sign of Charlie and Jim. That might be good or bad. Heyes would have to work alone and hope that no further danger was following. There was a growl of thunder overhead.

He snuck back over to the front door and knelt by it, pulling out his ring of pick locks – about 100 gleaming little slivers of carefully crafted steel that he had made himself, bending each to a different combination of curves and angles. He knocked on the door – two knocks and a pause, then two more knocks and a pause. He was answered by three carefully spaced, muffled thuds. His heart thumped almost as loudly. That was the Kid, for sure. That signal mean that he was alive and he was alone. "Whew!" Heyes breathed out in relief. He didn't dare to yell to the Kid, but there was no use. The Kid knew who it was outside.

But then Heyes took another deep breath. Nothing was certain yet. A tiny sound behind him made Heyes whirl around – it was only a first drop of rain striking a leaf. The long threatened rain was beginning. Thunder grumbled from the dark clouds that made it nearly as dim as evening.

Heyes knew he had to work fast. Someone could come any moment and rain might make things harder. He chose a pick lock from his set and tried it on the pad lock. There was a faint scrape that the Kid could probably here inside. Heyes thought he heard a dull sound – the Kid was moving around. This wasn't the right pick – Heyes chose another one, carefully keeping an eye and an ear out for anyone approaching. With the right tool, Heyes had the lock picked in seconds. Now on to the dead bolt. He tried a much longer pick on the knob. No luck. He tried another one. No – not quite right. The third one, with a bit of work, was successful. The dead bolt slid back with a loud click. Heyes stood, checked around yet again. He thought he heard something – it was only a rumble of thunder. And then the rain began, first a loud patter on the shed and the woods beyond, and then a rushing roar of falling water. Heyes jumped at a loud crack of thunder. Lightning flashed in the distance.

Heyes slid the door open with a creek. All was dark inside except for an empty semi-circle of light coming in the door. Then an awkward form crawled into the light – it was the Kid, tightly tied with thongs, and gagged. Heyes was inside in a second, pulled in the gag out of his friend's mouth. Before Heyes could say anything, he heard his friend start to speak and saw him look up. Not waiting for a full word, Heyes whirled around, drawing his gun and pulling the trigger in the same motion. It roared in his ears, another gun roaring at almost the same moment. Heyes could feel the close breeze of a bullet flying past him. It would have to have passed . . .

"Kid?" Heyes gasped.

"Fine!" said the hoarse but familiar voice. "But . . ."

Heyes looked out the shed door. The man who had stood only about ten yards away now lay silently in the pouring rain. It was so dark that Heyes, his gun cocked in his hand for a second shot, had to go out into the rain to see who it was and what condition he was in. Heyes stood over him and looked down at the still form, the man's gun hand – he left – lay in the mud. Heyes had never seen the man before, but he lay absolutely still. He was tall with long, dirty blonde hair. The description didn't match anyone Wiseman had told them about. It took a moment for Heyes, in the pouring rain and the darkness of the clouds, to find where his bullet had hit the man. Then he realized what had happened – his bullet had gone in the man's open mouth and taken off a good portion of the top of his head. The blood nearly blended with mud the man lay in. The heavy rain rapidly washed the flowing red away, but more kept coming. The soaked Heyes hugged himself and shivered in the sudden chill that had come with the rain. Then turned on his heel and went back into the shed to help the Kid.

"Dead?" asked the Kid, sitting very still in the dark shed.

"Yeah. Let's get those thongs off you, Kid," said his partner, leaning over his bound partner to start the untying.

There was a loud click. "No, let's leave them there," said an unfamiliar hoarse bass voice. Heyes looked out the door to see who was holding a gun on them. The dark haired man wore a tin star and a nasty dark scar ran down his neck. It was the deputy. "Hands up! Sit down Heyes, and let's get you tied up, too. Don't look for your friends to help you – got them both tied up on their horses back on the trail. A little wet for them, but they'll last. Can let them go when we've got you both turned in. Too bad Gunther didn't live to get his share of the thirty thousand, but it'll go farther for Pa and me. Think they'll up it for the murder charge, Heyes, before they hang you?"

Heyes, his heart in his boots, sat silently on the shed's dirt floor. All their cards had been played and the hand had lost. Bentley the deputy took Heyes' gun from his holster and tossed it out the shed's door. Then he leaned over Heyes with a strip of rawhide in his hand.

"I sure am sorry, Kid. I just didn't hear his horse or him, in all the rain," murmured Heyes to his partner.

The Kid grunted, "It's alright, Heyes. Whole thing's my fault. I was dumb enough to come up here when Lom told me about some poor lady he'd read about in the paper who lost her memory and was in trouble over us. All a lie – a damn lie. And I fell for it!"

"Shut up, both of you!" crabbed the deputy as he started to tie up Heyes' wrists. "Bad enough I got to bury my brother-in-law without having to do it in the pouring rain, and then go tell my sister about it! She won't be pleased with you, Heyes!"

Heyes' mind was racing, but no brilliant thoughts occurred to him.

A loud double click was audible over the thunder sounded just outside the shed door. "Hold it right there, Bentley," said Theron Wiseman, standing in the lightening rain, holding his rifle pointed in the door. "I got both barrels trained on you, so straighten up, hands up, and back away from that man real slow."

The deputy, growling low in his wounded throat, complied. "Thank you, sir!" said Heyes with real feeling, saluting in the poet's direction.

"I don't know who you are, but thanks from me, too!" said the Kid as Heyes pulled the gun from the deputy's holster.

Wiseman smiled under his dripping grey beard. "You're welcome boys. Kid, I'm Theron Wiseman, as Sean Bentley here knows right well. More I'll wait to tell you till we get away from this deputy gone bad."

Heyes picked up his own gun before it got too wet, then went back into the damp, dark shed to tie up the furious but silent deputy.

The Kid squirmed uncomfortably. "Tie him tight!" he said, "Now come get me loose!" Heyes hastened to do that very thing. He was quiet in embarrassment. Imagine, two outlaws being saved by a poet!

The Kid got to his feet clumsily, rubbing his sore wrists. "That sure is better, Heyes! Thanks. And thanks again, Mr. Wiseman!"

The two outlaws pulled the soaked dead body into the shed to lie, gun still in its hand, next to the tied up deputy. Bentley was visibly not pleased to be so close to the grisly object. Heyes took the deputy's badge off and handed it to Wiseman. It would help to convince the sheriff that he'd better ride out this way to get his deputy and arrest him.

The four men went off quickly to find where Charlie Homer and Jim Smith were sitting tied on horseback in the rain, which was letting up now. The light was coming back, reminding everyone that despite all that had happened during this eventful day, it was not yet noon.

"Charlie! Jim!" cried the Kid as he saw his friends sitting on their horses. "So you came out to rescue me, too! I surely am beholden to you, and to Mr. Wiseman, and to Heyes, as always."

"Not that we d-d-did much!" said an embarrassed Jim as the Kid untied his wrists and unhobbled his horse. "I was d-d-day d-d-dreaming I g-g-guess – that g-g-guy got the d-d-drop on me awful easy!"

"And on me, too. He's damn good!" said Charlie, "but I'm just glad to see you well, Kid. We've all been awful worried. And damn glad to see Theron come and rescue us all!"

"Hate to break up this old home week, boys, but we got to be riding," said Wiseman. "You head out to my place and get your stuff and ride back the way you came. I know I don't have to leave any key with you, since you got Heyes, here! He's already picked that lock once. I'll head into town and tell the sheriff that his deputy has been engaged in kidnapping – so to speak," his eyes sparkled at the awful pun, "Considerin' the lies that deputy's been publishing through his father's contacts with papers, I doubt anyone will believe him that Hannibal Heyes killed this man. It was sure self defense – obvious enough with the bullet in the wall and the gun in Gunther's hand. But who did it? If you boys get out of here fast, no one'll ever know but us. I'll clean up the legal end. You just let that sheriff friend of yours know. And Heyes, you better shave off that damned beard right quick – Bentley's gonna' give a new description of you!"

"You got it all figured, don't you, Wiseman?" said Heyes with a laugh. "Guess you earned your name! But now we got to ride. Good-bye and thank you!" He leaned from horseback to shake his poet's hand. The Kid followed suit, as did Jim and Charlie.

"Thanks, old friend," said Charlie. "You never did give us any poetry."

Everyone was laughing as Heyes, the Kid, and their new "gang members," rode off east through the woods.

But there was an awful guilty pain in Heyes' heart that he was sure would never go away. He kept seeing the wet, still face of the first man he had ever killed.


	23. Chapter 23

Heyes led his little gang on a round-about route to join up with a larger road where the other traffic would cover their tracks before they headed to Wiseman's place. No spare words were said as they rode and Heyes looked particularly grim. When they got to Wiseman's place, they paused to consult and let the horses blow while they loaded some gear and spare clothes on the horses.

Heyes looked at his partner in concern, "You alright, Kid? Haven't given you any time to tell us about what's been going on with you the last couple of weeks. Sounds pretty bad."

The Kid was still rubbing his sore wrists where the tight thongs had worn them raw. "For being tied up in a dark shed for over a week, it wasn't so bad. They fed me alright and let me move around some now and then and even keep clean. Ms. Gunther was the kindest – she's a right good cook! Mostly it was lonely and, you know, worrying. But not too awful bad. I knew you'd find me somehow, Heyes! I just knew you would. And you didn't disappoint me. But I was worried about Cat."

Heyes didn't let the Kid's gratitude make him feel any better. "She sent me a telegram, and so did Lom. When we get to a town, we've got to let her know you're well. You are, aren't you?" Heyes still looked worriedly at his partner.

The Kid smiled. "I'm fine – now. A little stiff, but I'd rather be riding than sitting there in the dirt and the dark! But I worry about you, Heyes, and about Wiseman. And Charlie and Jim, I hate to get those guys involved in our troubles. You shouldn't have brung them along, Heyes!"

"Don't blame Heyes!" laughed Homer. "We insisted on coming! Wouldn't hear the word no!"

"That's r-r-right!" added Jim.

"Well, I'm glad to see you, anyhow," said the Kid. "That's a bad bunch had me tied up. I overheard enough to put them all away for a long time, and I'm afraid they know it. Although I think the sheriff was starting to catch on and he would've arrested his deputy real soon if we hadn't come along – or at least, that's what the deputy was thinking. That stage coach robbery last November was real – Gunther and the deputy did it. Gunther killed the driver. There wasn't really a lady who lost her memory – they made that up to catch me. But Bentley murdered another passenger. And they pulled a few other jobs, trying to get money to pay off Pa Bentley's bad loans and Gunther's bad gambling. I'll report it all to Lom in person on the way home. I just hope nobody finds a way to follow us and I sure hope Wiseman doesn't get in legal trouble. I mean, all he really did was to help free someone who was illegally detained, I guess the phrase is. But they might could get him for aiding and abetting us, Heyes. If anybody really believes we were there, after all the lies they can prove those newspapers printed!"

Heyes shook his head. "I sure hope they don't figure any way to get Wiseman, or you, or Charlie or Jim, on accessory to murder."

The Kid came to his partner's defense against Heyes' own fears. "It wasn't murder, Heyes! It was self-defense and that's that! There's all the evidence in the world right there! The murder rap on my record will never stand, either, with the evidence I can point them at. Now let's ride!" The Kid climbed back onto his horse and the others mounted up again. As they mounted up, the Kid muttered to Heyes, "And it's there's any trouble all they have to do is get you on the stand, silver-tongue!" The Kid winked and smiled at his partner, in an attempt to cheer Heyes up. But the darker partner continued to look very down as they rode off.

The four men didn't take the train at the town where they had come in – it might be too easy for someone to spot them who had seen the three coming in. They rode a good 15 miles farther along to a little whistle stop town appropriately called Berg.

It was long dark when they arrived. They were all very sore and tired as they dismounted at the livery stable and sold their horses and gear. Then they stopped at the train station and found out that the next train east was only an hour and a half off, and the next one west was only a couple of hours after that. So the group had a while together while they waited. They sent telegrams to Cat, and Beth, and Lom giving the news in carefully coded phrases shaped by Heyes. They were glad to get a fast response from Lom that he was in town and would be glad to see the Kid when he came by on his way home to Louisville.

Then the four men repaired to the local saloon for a tasteless but filling late dinner.

"Well, Jim, what do you think of the outlaw life?" asked the Kid under his breath with a grin.

"Whoever said it was fun was c-c-crazy! It t-t-tires me out. And it scares me! And it hurts!" moaned Jim, rubbing his sore hind end.

"Now you got the picture!" said the Kid with an understanding smile.

When they had finished their food, they headed back to the train station. The Kid found a quiet moment with Heyes around the side of the station away from the others. It was hard for the partners to be separated again so soon, but the Kid wouldn't think of keeping Cat waiting and he had to give Lom his evidence, while Heyes had to hurry to take his make-up exams and get started on summer classes.

"How are you, Heyes?" the Kid asked gently.

"What do you mean? You're the one we're worried about, after a week and more tied up," Heyes answered with some irritation.

The Kid wouldn't back off. "You know what I mean. How are you?"

Heyes sighed heavily and replied in a whisper. "Not real well, right now, Kid. There's a widow! I made a wife into a widow! For all we know, there could be children! What's she like, Kid, is she nice?"

The Kid's brow was furrowed. "What do you want me to tell you, Heyes? That she's a bitch? Well she ain't. Just a perfectly nice young lady who really wished that her husband could find a better way to pay off his gambling debts. And by the way, he was making her work, um, nights at the saloon. So I'm guessing she might be a bit relieved to be rid of him. Does that help?"

"Not much. But I appreciate the effort, Kid." Heyes paused and looked meditatively into the darkness beyond the gas light of the station. Finally he asked, "How do you . . . deal with it?"

"Not real well, either, right now." The Kid wasn't as happy as he had kept up in front of the others. "And no, there ain't no children. I'm just sorry that it was because of me that you had to do it. And to put you and Charlie and Jim, and Wiseman, in trouble's way."

Heyes looked back at his partner. "It's not your fault, Kid."

"Well ain't your fault, neither, Heyes. Would you rather have Beth and Cat in mourning instead of Madge Gunther? If you hadn't been so fast, that's what it would have been, sure enough." The Kid clapped his partner on the back encouragingly.

There was no answer to that except the whistle of the train from the west pulling in. It wasn't going to stop for more than a minute, so Heyes shook his partner's hand and everyone shouted good-byes to "Thaddeus" as the east-bound contingent climbed aboard with their bags.

Heyes looked worried to leave his partner alone at the tiny station. "He can look after himself as well as any man in the world, Joshua," said Charlie Homer to his prize student as they found seats. "Now pull out that notebook and get some reviewing in for those tests!"

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days later, Beth, Marie, and Dr. Leutze were waiting at Grand Central Depot for the trio coming in from the West. They were really getting to be a rather close group. They took cabs to Charlie and Marie's place for a late private supper. To the surprise of everyone who had been waiting for them, the bunch from the West had remarkably little to say.

"What's the matter?" asked Marie as she came out of the kitchen to bring hot rolls to her guests. "Is Mr. Curry really alright?"

"As long as the law doesn't catch up with him, he's fine. Nothing unusual about that!" said Heyes with a forced smile.

The dinner party wound up talking more about Wiseman's character and the spectacular scenery of Montana and the latest events in New York than about what Heyes, Charlie, and Jim had gone west to do. Charlie went into the kitchen after dinner to help with the dishes and quietly said a word or two to Marie in explanation. She looked at Heyes with concern as she came back to the dining room, but didn't ask him anything. Jim soon begged off any further talk and walked back to his room to get some much needed sleep.

Heyes said to Beth, "I'll walk you home, honey. It's late."

"Alright, Heyes. We'd better go now – I have to teach in the morning." Beth knew there was something very wrong with her man. She hoped that on the walk she would learn what it was. So they all said good-bye and Dr. Leutze took a cab to his own place as Heyes walked with Beth.

As they got out the door and onto the sidewalk, Beth was surprised that Heyes didn't put his arm around her or even hold her hand as he usually did when they walked together.

"Heyes," Beth asked with concern as soon as they were alone on the sidewalk, "have I done something to offend you? You haven't touched me once since you got back. You didn't even kiss me hello. Are you mad at me?"

"No, honey." Heyes wouldn't look at her. "But I thought that, when you knew, you'd be happier not to . . ."

"Knew what? Heyes, look at me! What are you talking about?" Beth demanded, as stopped short on the sidewalk facing Heyes.

He looked at her very directly. "Beth, I . . . I had to kill a man. I shot him – in the mouth. He was going to kill the Kid, or me, after I opened the shed where the Kid was. His bullet missed me only because I turned so fast. I never even really saw his face . . . until he was dead."

Beth stared at Heyes for a minute in open-mouthed shock. But then she pulled herself together and reached for his hand, although he avoided her. "It sounds like self-defense to me, honey."

"It was. But I'm a killer now. Aren't you going to leave? You left when you found out I was a thief - won't you leave a killer?" Heyes looked at the ground in shame and took a step away from Beth on the dark, empty sidewalk.

Beth put her hands gently on Heyes' chin and made him look at her. She spoke very firmly to her man. "No! I swore I wouldn't ever leave you again, unless you wanted me to. I'm a woman of my word. I'm staying. I believe in you. I love you."

Heyes reached for Beth's chin and turned her face to look up at his as he put his arm around her and kissed her very deeply. When their lips parted he whispered in her ear, "I love you, too." He held her close and they kissed again. "And I need you." Heyes put his arm around the woman he loved as he walked her home along the dark Manhattan sidewalk.


	24. Chapter 24

Sometimes in the warm summer weather with the sun rising early, Heyes would get restless and take off for a walk around the big city far from Columbia University. One early pale morning soon after his return from Montana, he went down to the docks where he had not been for many a month. He leaned on a capstan and looked up at the big schooners and steamers, wondering what it would be like to sail off to some distant place. He and Beth had talked about trying to go to England and Italy and other parts of Europe someday – when he had graduated and wasn't wanted by the law anymore. It seemed like the day would never come.

As Heyes stood dreaming by the docks with the sunrise golden gleaming over him, the deep voices of British sailors came to him across the water as they hauled their ship's sails up to catch the morning wind and tide:

"Our boots and clothes is all in pawn,

Go down, you blood-red roses, go down!

And it's flamin' draughty 'round Cape Horn,

Go down, you blood-red roses, go down!

Oh, you pinks and posies,

Go down, you blood-red roses, go down! . . ."

Though it was a warm morning, Heyes shivered to hear the heavy tread of the men and their rhythmic work song. He had heard a version of it before. A Devil's Hole man had sung it to the boys when he had come back from a long, bitter stint in prison. It was among the work songs he had learned while at hard labor. Remembering the haunted look of the jail bird's eyes, Heyes could not help but think that he could one day be at hard labor himself. What would it be like, to give up all his lofty dreams of education and professional work and family life – and freedom? He tried not to think about it, but hearing the sailors hard at work, he could not help it. He wondered sometimes how Beth Warren and Charlie Homer and so many others, these days, could ever believe in him for a moment. After all, the hard rock pile was where Hannibal Heyes really belonged – and might yet wind up.

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"Smith!" said Charlie Homer, "Smith, wake up! Man, you been working too hard!"

Heyes jerked awake where he had dropped off to sleep on a bench outside his advisor's office. With thoughts like those he had had down the docks haunting him, he had, indeed, been working awfully hard since they had gotten back from Montana. There had hardly been a moment between getting back and taking a series of delayed exams and immediately starting a pair of summer classes.

"Uhn. Sorry. What's the news, Professor" Heyes leaned forward and pushed back his glasses to rub his tired eyes. Then he stretched his equally tired back as he stood up.

"Come into my office, Smith." There were a few students loitering around the halls, so Homer and Heyes couldn't speak freely in the hall.

Once inside the crowded little office, they didn't have to use Heyes' alias, or Homer's formal title.

"Here you go, Heyes. All As on the exams, of course!" said Homer with a wink as his prize student as he handed him a stack of reports. "How you did it with no time to study except on the train, I still don't know."

"A's?" asked Heyes, eyebrows raised.

"A pluses!" Homer laughed.

"That's more like it!" said Heyes with a satisfied smile.

"And Wiseman got six months, aiding and abetting," Homer added. "You asked for the news."

Heyes started out of his chair in fury, "Damn it, Charlie! Why didn't you tell me the trial was on? I could've . . ."

"What, ridden out there and sacrificed the rest of your life, and the Kid's, and Beth's happiness, and Cat's, to save him six months? Don't be a fool!" Homer snorted in contempt at his friend's desire for heroic self-sacrifice. "And besides, they gave him just a symbolic week in jail – not even a real prison – and then the rest is community service. He gets to go around the territory reciting his poetry to school kids. He grumbles about being away from the ranch and his horses, but he'll be in hog heaven with those kids.

And besides, it's starting to get around that he saved the lives of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes. He's an authentic hero out there! He refused to identify anyone – said he never heard any of our right names. Of course, no one knows we stayed with him. There's no evidence at all about any more than a few minutes together. There are good things about living on the neglected end of a very big ranch! They took it easy on an old man.

Bentley the deputy is gonna get hung, you'll be glad to know. The conspirators all ratted each other out, and Mrs. Gunther put in a few bad words, herself.

But you, Heyes, are being sought on man slaughter. I know they'd let you off on self-defense. . ."

Heyes' brow was furrowed, "But only if I stood trial – and that would mean. . ."

Homer finished the sentence for him, "showing up in court and getting arrested. Serving a bunch of life-times worth of twenty-years sentences for armed robbery – I know. So you just got to let it be – till it comes down to getting serious on the amnesty. Then it might get dicey."

Heyes frowned. "Life just never gets any less complicated, does it?"

"Not for you, Hannibal Heyes – sure seems like not for you."

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Not long after the fall semester had started, Heyes was walking down the hall of the math department, hands in his pockets, talking with Paul Huxtable between classes.

"You going to knock me off the top spot again this semester, Missouri?" Heyes asked playfully. "I saw you in the library at 10:00 last night. You got to sleep sometime, boy."

The red-headed young Huxtable bristled at this man who was nearly twice his age. "So do you, Kansas! What were you doing there that late, if you're going to take it out of my hide?"

"Alright – you caught me," Heyes grinned guiltily. "Or we caught each other."

Huxtable stared hard at his friend. "What'd you really miss exams for, Smith? You looked tired when you showed up again, but you didn't look sick. Seems like there's always something going on with you and it's never quite what you say it is . . . " Huxtable was young, but he was no fool. Heyes worried if he could keep deceiving his school friends. He hated the thought of their finding out how badly he had been lying and for how long.

Just then Professor Homer came striding up behind them. "Gentlemen! Just the men I was looking for. The Professor's having a reception tomorrow night over at Grant Hall, and he wants me to bring my brightest students to introduce to some big wigs and funders. You up for it, or will you both be studying all night again?"

Huxtable moaned, but said, "Sure, Prof. What time? Black tie?"

"Eight o'clock, and yes, black tie. What about you, Smith?" Heyes looked just slightly nervous in the opinion of his observant advisor. Heyes had managed thus far to avoid meeting the president of the university – on whom he was, after all, perpetuating a pretty big lie about who he was. Huxtable had to hurry away to his next class, leaving Heyes and Homer relatively free to talk in a now deserted hallway.

"Do you think it's safe? They could ask the wrong questions. . ." Heyes had been feeling even more paranoid than usual since he had found out he was being sought for man-slaughter.

Homer gave a short bark of laughter, "What, you think some major donor is going to ask what felony charges are pending against you? Don't be ridiculous! This is a fine opportunity for you to show off. Just think of it as a nice little con."

"Geez, Charlie, I wish you wouldn't say that kind of thing where anyone could overhear it!" responded Heyes, looking furtively around the halls.

Homer smiled thoughtfully, "I'll tell what it really is, Smith. You have a problem with authority. You've been actively avoiding the President and even the Dean. Don't bother to deny it! You're one of the top students in the whole school and those guys know it! You're ducking any contact with men who are rightfully proud of you. I guess when I consider the only authorities you've ever been under, it makes sense – gang leaders and sheriffs, I guess."

"And you." Heyes didn't like to admit it, but Homer had become a father figure for him at an age when he had thought he no longer had any need for such a person in his life. Heyes gave his advisor a crooked half smile, "Can you blame me for ducking, them, Charlie? Think about what you and I are going to have to break to them one of these days – before I can graduate!"

Despite his worries, Heyes did show up at the reception at 8 PM sharp, trying to look elegant in his black tie just as he would have on a con in the old days. He really had been trying to avoid the ceremonial side of the honors he had been winning. It was too much like the press attention that had been an active threat to his life for the last nearly twenty years. And besides, he hadn't exactly been elegantly brought up. He was well aware of being ignorant about how to behave in very formal settings. When he thought of how he had tried to carry off cons where he had been supposed to be rich or well educated, he couldn't imagine, now, how he had ever managed for it be anything other than a howling face. He guessed he had only been able to bring it off because he had been dealing with people even more ignorant and poorly brought up than himself.

Within minutes of Heyes' arrival, Homer brought over someone in a spotless tux – a dignified, bearded old man whom Heyes recognized as the President of the University. He looked even more authoritarian and frightening up close than he had when Heyes had been sitting in a crowd of students and the President had been up on a dais.

Professor Homer smiled encouragingly at his prize student, but it didn't help much. "President Barnard, may I present Joshua Smith, the current leading student in the mathematics department. You already know his rival, Huxtable."

The old man stuck out his lean hand to shake Heyes' own. He spoke in an educated New England accent, "So we finally meet, Smith! I've heard a lot about you but somehow we keep missing each other. No spring chick, are you? Guess that sounds like the pot calling the kettle black, but I expect a college president to be old. Most undergraduates are young! What were you doing with yourself out West before you saw reason and came to Columbia?"

Here it was – pretty close to the most dangerous question that anyone in authority could possibly ask "Joshua Smith!" With most people he could get away with the saddle bum line, but not with the President of the University!

The famous silver tongue was a little tongue-tied now, "Um, this and that, sir. Nothing you would want to hear about. Nothing so worthwhile as I get to do here now."

"They tell me you were a cowboy. . ." said the President leadingly.

Heyes nodded. "I've been on a few cattle drives, but only a few. That's hard work! And don . . . doesn't pay much."

The white-bearded president was enjoying making an undergraduate sweat, but he was also honestly curious. "So, what else did you do with all those years out west?"

Heyes looked away from the man's keen blue eyes. "Honestly, sir, you wouldn't want to hear about it." He wished Homer would rescue him, but his mentor had withdrawn a couple of paces and had a slight but unmistakable smile on his face that betrayed how much he was enjoying the discomfort of Hannibal Heyes.

With the President's gaze still on him, Heyes had to go on, "Mining, body-guarding, ranch work – anything that paid."

The President gestured to call over a tall, grey-bearded man "Oh, here's Robert Harris, President of the Northern Pacific Railroad - one of our chief financial supporters. Harris, shake the hand of Joshua Smith, our leading mathematics student."

Heyes tried desperately not to sweat as he shook the hand of the immaculately suited man with his diamond tie tack and cuff links. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Harris," said Heyes, wishing that he could vanish out of this incredibly uncomfortable situation. Heyes had to take Homer's facetious advice and think of the whole thing as a con – it was the only way he could have any chance to get through it.

President Barnard told Harris, "Smith here is from out West – he was a cowboy, among other things, before he came to the University."

"Oh," said Harris, "What brought you east?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Heyes thought, "this just keeps getting worse!" Aloud he said, "Medical treatment. While I was at a clinic in New York, I got some tutoring as well. I never got to finish my schooling out West. I was glad to get the . . .opportunity for more schooling." His aphasia took that moment to cause a fairly obvious gap in his speech.

"I guess so, considering what superb use you've made of it!" bragged the University President.

"What sort of medical treatment, if you don't mind my asking?," said Harris.

Heyes fought to stay casual and proper as the man probed into one of his deepest insecurities. Harris had offered him the chance to avoid the question, but Smith could not realistically do so without prompting worse questions for others to answer later. He pushed back the long hair over his temple, "For this, sir."

Harris' eyes grew wide, "What earned you that nasty scar?"

Heyes, the old con man, kept his voice even while his heart pounded, "Sheer bad luck and a stray bullet."

"What kind of problems did that cause you?" Harris asked.

The President knew the answer and Heyes could see the compassion in his eyes – he hadn't intended to embarrass Joshua Smith. "It's alright, Smith, you don't have to answer . . ."

Heyes shrugged. He might as well, now. If he didn't, it would come out behind his back anyway. He might as well tell the story himself. The familiar technical phrases came easily to him from his days at the clinic, where he had heard it explained so often. "Aphasia. Do you know what that is?" Harris shook his head. "In Greek it just means being speechless, but it really covers all kinds of trouble with language caused by a brain injury. Inability to speak, understand, read, or write. I had all those problems to begin with. But reading and understanding cleared up pretty quickly. The rest took a while." He didn't say that he still had more trouble than anyone except Dr. Leutze knew. He had to change word choices far more often than people realized and his trouble writing had gotten much better but never gone away.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Harris, "So you couldn't even talk or write, but you wound up leading the math department at Columbia University?"

The President spared Smith the discomfort of bragging about his own achievements, "Sheer hard work, from what Homer tells me! Most determined man he's ever seen. Could hardly talk when he started sitting in with classes, and can rattle off any formula ever invented, now! And he's putting up not just top marks in the school, but top marks in the history of the school!"

Harris was wide-eyed. He was properly impressed, "Allow me to shake your hand, sir! That is quite a remarkable story! If you ever need financial backing, you just come to me!" Harris handed Smith his card. He evidently meant what he had said! Not that Heyes would ever dare to him up on it – to ask this man of all the rich men in the world to contribute to the betterment of Hannibal Heyes would be one of the world's great ironies.

Somehow Heyes got through the rest of the evening, but as they left well after dark, he found an isolated corner where he could say a few choice words to Charlie Homer in a very low voice. "Charlie, you're a mean, spiteful guy, you know that!? You knew damn well that man Harris was going to be here! Do you have any idea how many reasons we gave him, and the guy before him, to hate us? What if I'd slipped up talking to him? What did I ever do to you?"

Homer grinned at Heyes, and whispered, "Slip up! You? You were cool as a cucumber. But what did you do to me? You mean, besides getting me tied up by a murderer and left on a horse in the pouring rain while I wondered if you and your partner were about to get murdered and Jim and me with you? And then hearing those gun shots . . ."

"Alright, besides that," laughed Heyes, realizing he was beaten. Charlie Homer really had owed him one over that.

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Just after the end of the fall semester, Heyes and Beth were cuddling together in her office at the clinic after hours. It was one of the few places they could be alone together without it's seeming too terribly improper. If he just neglected to leave at the end of office hours and she just happened to be working late . . .

"It's been a quiet semester, hasn't it, Heyes? And the summer was pretty calm, too – after you got home from Montana Territory. No adventures in months. You getting restless?" Beth ran an affectionate hand down Heyes' back.

Heyes sighed with delight and nibbled on Beth's left ear, then replied, "No! I'm sick of adventures, and I think the Kid is, too. We've had too damn many of 'em- for the last twenty years! Even Jim seems pretty happy just to be home for a while with no guns going off. I'm actually getting some work done!"

"You sure are! Was that a record high standing you just set?" Beth asked proudly, before bending to nuzzle Heyes' dimple.

He kissed her cheek fondly, "You know it was! I'd never have gotten there without you, Beth. And do you know, woman, that after only two years in college, I'm actually at the equivalent of the middle of junior year? Those suffering summers and tedious winter sessions are paying off! I've caught up with Ev and Missouri, and they started a semester before me! In fact, I'm even a class up on them. If I keep it up, I'll have a bunch of grad credits under my belt when we graduate in a year and a half. The MA will get done in no time, I hope! But I don't want to count too many chickens . . ."

Beth looked into Heyes' glowing eyes, "You're always in such a hurry! I never understand why you work with such a fire under you, Heyes."

Heyes looked questioningly at Beth, "Don't you?"

"Well, maybe - I hope I do . . ." Beth suspected that there was something he needed to say and she wanted to give him the opening to do it.

"You know it has to do with – you. I want to – if you want to – I mean would you . . ."

Beth smiled and tried to give Heyes the time and space he needed.

Heyes got up her courage and went on, with a rambling sentence whose grammar was all out of whack but whose sense was clear enough, "Would you want to, if we can ever get amnesty, if I hurried and finished up my degrees so we could - get married?"

His answer came in the form of a passionate kiss, followed rather breathlessly by Beth's saying, "Yes! I would!"

"Yes? Really?" Heyes asked. Beth smiled and Heyes kissed her again.

Beth reassured him, "Yes, Heyes, yes! With all those ifs around it, I understand you can't get around the ifs."

"Gosh, I wish we didn't have to wait for that slow governor and my slow education!" Heyes kissed her again, and started to work on Beth's blouse.

Beth stood and pulled out of Heyes' arms, but he resisted letting her go. Beth said, "Come off it, Heyes, we've got to stop! The cleaning lady'll be here any minute and if you take my clothes off, we'll have more than explaining to do. I'll get fired for lewd behavior and you know it." She laughed and slapped Heyes' wandering hand. "It's strictly again policy to — the patients!"

"Why, Miss Warren!" exclaimed Heyes with mock surprise at Beth's explicit language. He was learning that Beth's vocabulary was much larger than he had ever realized when she had been merely his tutor.

Heyes laughed at Beth's playful and regretful swat. "Oh, alright! I won't force you and cause trouble. You know me – never one to cause trouble! But I sure am going to miss you over Christmas while I'm in Colorado and you're in West Virginia with your sister and her family and your aunt!"

Heyes backed down after only a couple of more kisses and went back to his room full of frustrations, but all smiles.


	25. Chapter 25

Heyes and Jim got to together one Saturday afternoon at Jim's place so the former outlaw could acquaint his friend with the latest events in Montana.

"So the K-K-Kid isn't wanted for m-m-murder anymore?" Jim asked, taking a swig from a mug of beer he had filled from a bucket. Beer in bottles hadn't come into fashion yet.

"Not anymore. Deputy Bentley and Gunther got the blame they deserved and the deputy'll swing for it," Heyes took a sedate sip of tea. "Not a nice man." Heyes was doing his best to stay on the straight and narrow, having proposed to Beth and thus laid out the future he wanted as a family man.

"But they still want you on man-slaughter?" Jim inquired avidly. Heyes nodded, grimacing. It didn't make him happy.

"What about the f-f-fifteen thousand r-r-reward?" Jim couldn't get enough of the details.

Heyes shrugged. "That's nothing much to do with the law – it's offered by the railroads and banks, and now a stagecoach company. By rights, the stage coach company ought to take the extra five thousand off for each of us. We've never stolen a penny from them, and now it's been proven in a court of law. They shouldn't have to pay up if we get caught. But they haven't taken it off yet last I heard. Fools – nothing but bad publicity for them all over the West on those new posters. Makes 'em look even less reliable than they are – and they aren't exactly reliable. I've been in stage coach hold ups more than once."

"And that r-r-railroad p-p-president you met, how much of the r-r-reward does his c-c-company offer?"

Heyes laughed, "Most of it, I think! Oh, the fits we gave the Northern Pacific And the little roads they own, too!"

Jim was laughing, too. "What ab-b-bout Wiseman?"

"The West has a new hero! He saved our miserable hides. Yours, too, of course, but nobody talks about that. Be grateful for small favors!" Heyes winked at his friend and took another sip of steaming tea. In the cold of Jim's room, as snow fell outside, hot tea had its benefits.

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Marie Homer went to see Beth at the Leutze clinic the morning after Heyes proposed to her. "I'm sorry, Beth," she said, "but we can't be part of your secret Christmas plan to go to Louisville. You'll have to find another chaperone. Charlie's sick with something – it might be the flu. I hope not, but he can't travel. I'm so sorry! I know you and Jed and Cat had set it up so carefully to surprise Heyes. And of course you can't go all the way on the train alone to see a single man – what a scandal! Our pathetic society! I sure hope you can find someone to go with you, but it'll be very last minute."

Beth shrugged. "Don't feel bad, Marie. I'll manage. I've got to! I just can't be gone from him for a whole month now! He needs me and I need him, too. I thought I'd go nuts while he was gone in Montana and I got no word day after day. I felt awfully guilty having Heyes and the Kid get Charlie involved with it all."

Marie shook her graying head. "And I thought a professor's life would be a quiet one! But I must tell you, Charlie found a lot of ways to get into trouble long before Heyes came along. The West and adventure are in his blood and no amount of teaching will ever get them out."

Beth engaged in a quick round of cryptic telegrams back and forth to Louisville before she approached her dear friend Polly, the receptionist, at the end of the day as they put on their warm coats to go out into the New York cold. "Polly, I'm sure you have Christmas holiday plans, but could you change them?"

Polly didn't seem to mind this at all, "I'm just going home to New Jersey to see my folks – that's easy to change if you can make me a better offer!" she replied with a sparkle in her eye. She had a feeling that she knew what was on offer. But while she knew about Beth's relationship with Joshua Smith, she did not know about Hannibal Heyes.

Beth grinned, "How would you like to go out West with me to surprise Joshua with a Christmas visit?"

Polly jumped up and hugged Beth, "Oh, I've always wanted to go out West! I'd love that more than anything! To go with you would be the most fun! And I'd get to see that handsome friend of Joshua's wouldn't I?"

Beth laughed, "Yes! But Thaddeus is engaged to Cat, as you well know, Polly. I'm sure they have other handsome friends – if you like cowboys."

"I love cowboys!" said Polly, "or I think I do – other than Joshua and Thaddeus, I've never met any. When do we leave?"

"Is day after tomorrow too soon? Early in the morning? I'll come by with a cab to get you about 6:00. We'd be out there about a month, so bring plenty of warm clothes." Now Beth's smiled faded, "But there's one more thing. There's a – a secret – I can't tell you now. It's very serious. I have to ask one more person about it and I can't do that until we get there, whether I can tell. But you have to promise never, never to reveal it - if we can tell you. It really is life or death. For more than one person. Would you promise that?"

Polly was no fool. She wiped the wide smile off her face, but couldn't help having her eyes shine with excitement. "It's about Joshua, isn't it? Or Joshua and Thaddeus both?"

"Yes, it is. It's no joke, Polly." Beth looked as if she would bore right through the usually laughing young blonde Polly with her eyes.

"I understand – or as much as I can without knowing what it is. I promise." Polly looked as serious as Beth did.

"Alright." Beth smiled. "Oh, this is wonderful! I'd planned to go with Marie and Charlie Homer because they – they already know. But this'll be so much more fun! Marie is great, but you're like a sister. I've never been West, either, and Joshua has always said how much he thought I would enjoy it."

It seemed like Beth and Polly laughed all the way across the country in the train on the way to Colorado. They had never gotten to travel together before and they turned out to be perfectly suited for it. They loved looking out the window at the changing scenery, and also watching the array of different people who were headed west- miners, nuns, business men, and families moving West. And as they got farther west, there were even cowboy's carrying their saddles. The pair was in high excitement as they arrived in Louisville, Colorado, late in the afternoon in the shadow of the spectacular, snowy Rockies.

The girls had hoped that Thaddeus might be there to meet them, but as they stood on the little open platform, he didn't appear. It was much too cold to wait for him, so they set off carrying their own bags down the street a few blocks to the hotel. Polly looked around at the board walk and the stores with their false fronts, "Oh look, there's a gambling parlor with floosies! And a miner with a mule! And there's a cowboy riding by, and there's another! He's even got a gun on his hip! Oh, it's just like one of Jim's novels!" exclaimed Polly in excitement. Beth smiled. She was excited, too, but she was more impressed with the towering mountains in the distance. And she was far more anxious to see Heyes than any other sight in or out of town.

"But it's kind of scary, too. I wouldn't want to get too close to that drunken miner over there!" Polly clung to Beth. "And that's a pretty disreputable pair of filthy, unshaven cowboys riding by, both with their guns tied down like Jim says the professional gunmen wear them I wouldn't trust them at all!"

Beth caught only a glimpse of the two men riding by. They looked pretty scruffy - in a strangely attractive way. Then Beth and Polly were arriving at Christy's Place, going in the back way as Cat had told Beth about in her letters, so they wouldn't come in through the saloon. It wouldn't be at all proper for two ladies to be seen entering a saloon!

They knocked and Cat answered the door. "Oh, come in, ladies!" the lovely blonde young woman said warmly as she wiped her hands on her apron, "Let me get someone to carry those bags. Bruce!"

The now long-time porter came in with a smile and carried the newly arrived ladies' bags up the back stairs.

"You must be Miss Christy!" exclaimed Beth, "I'm so very glad to meet you! Joshua has told me so much about you – all wonderful! I'm Beth Warren, and this is my friend Mary Moore. We are most grateful to you for putting us up!"

Cat smiled warmly, "Welcome to you both, Miss Warren, and Miss Moore! It's our pleasure to have you – and come so far! Here, take off your wraps and warm yourselves by the stove."

"Thank you very, much, Miss Christy!" said Polly.

"Now both of you must call me Cat, like everyone does here," said the hotel's owner.

"If you like, Cat," smiled Beth. "And you have to call us Beth and Polly!" Cat and Beth both knew that they were almost cousins-in-law already, although Polly didn't know that Joshua and Thaddeus were cousins. "It's a dream come true to get to meet you. I so admire a woman who can make a success in business in this man's world."

Cat smiled back, a bit self-consciously. She was nervous to meet so well educated a lady as Elizabeth Warren was. "And I admire you, making a success in teaching. I never got to finish school and always wished I could know more. I know that it was always Joshua's dream to continue his education. He can't say enough about all you've done for him."

I wish Thaddeus and Joshua were here to greet you both, but they've been away the last three days taking supplies to a friend who lives up in the mountains. I do wish they could convince Mr. Cavanaugh to come down and live among civilized folks, but he won't do it. He used to be an outlaw years ago and he's nervous of law abiding folks. Or rather he thinks we'd be nervous of him. He's on the right side of the law now, and wouldn't hurt a fly, but he worries about his past. So he leads a hard life up there all alone. In fact, I'm a little worried. They should have been back yesterday or even the day before."

Beth, knowing one thing that the Cat did not know yet, was not worried about the boys. She worried only about how Polly would react to this story. If Polly was too appalled by a former outlaw, then they would be well warned about what her attitude about Heyes and the Kid might be. "Oh, the poor man!" said Polly, "It's nice of Thaddeus and Joshua to help him out. They're such nice men, both. I surely hope they're safe!" Beth and Cat smiled secretly to each other at that. It looked good for their own particular outlaws and their confidence in Polly!

Just then the back door swung opened with a blast of cold air and two men in heavy coats and cowboy hats came in, loudly stomping the snow off their boots. Cat, Beth, and Polly all turned to look at the new arrivals. Soon Cat and Beth had big smiles on their faces.

The look on Polly's face transformed from fear and surprise to embarrassment and then delight as she put her hand over her mouth and laughed at herself. The two "disreputable cowboys" who had frightened her so in the street had just come in the door! Beth had recognized them at once. Only belatedly did Polly realized that the two were Joshua and Thaddeus, with their tied down guns and three days growth of beard.

As Cat and Beth went to hug their men, Cat cried, "Boys, look who you're just in time to greet! It's Beth and Miss Polly from New York come for Christmas!"

"Beth!" cried Joshua in shocked delight, but he stepped back from her. "You should stay away, honey, I need a bath and shave before I'm fit to touch. We got caught by a bit of an avalanche up at Cavanaugh's place."

"Yeah," said Thaddeus, "we had to spend a couple of extra days digging out before we could get home."

"Oh, no you don't!" answer Beth with a laugh, "I'm not waiting all that time for the kiss I came seventeen hundred miles to get! That's worth a few bristles!" So Heyes gave his new fiancé a hug and kiss, despite looking more than a little disreputable and being more than a little smelly.

"Ouch! Maybe you were right after all, Joshua. You prickle!" Beth chuckled, rubbing her cheek ruefully.

"You ladies are the best Christmas surprise ever!" exclaimed Heyes, with his eyes aglow as he took off his heavy coat. "Now I've got the best of New York here with me in the best of the West. I will bathe and shave before I touch you, Polly. But I'm mighty glad to see you."

"We sure are happy to have you two to stay for Christmas!" said the Kid, taking off his own coat. "I'm just sorry we weren't at the station to meet you. That avalanche was not according to plan." He and Heyes exchanged a rather nervous glance. They weren't at all sure of how, and whether, they could tell Polly who she was really visiting in Colorado. If they couldn't, it would be a very awkward Christmas and New Year's in the close confines of the hotel where they might well get snowed in together.

After the boys got their hot baths and dressed more formally, Cat offered her lady visitors the chance to bathe as well. After days on the steam train with black soot everywhere, they felt the need.

While Polly was soaking and dressing in the room she would share with Beth, Beth and Cat had their first chance to talk alone in the hotel's back room where the stove glowed orange to keep the Colorado cold at bay.

"I feel ashamed to have two such educated ladies visiting this rough place, Miss Elizabeth," said Cat shyly. "I hope you won't regret leaving civilization so far behind for so long. And I hope an ignorant western girl won't offend you too much."

"You aren't ignorant! You know the most important things I still need to learn. And your hotel seems a very warm and welcoming place to me," answered Beth. "You should be proud of it. Christy's Place is a real haven in the Rockies. I can see what it means to those men coming in from the cold out front." She looked down embarrassed and went on in a very soft voice. "I've been in awe of you ever since Heyes told me about you. When I first learned who he was and I got so frightened that I left him, he said that you would never leave the Kid. I know he's right. If I could be as brave and strong as you are, then I could be the kind of wife that Heyes needs. I can learn an awful lot from you, if you can put up with teaching me."

Cat was speechless at this – she just put out her arms and welcomed Beth into them. They both were wiping tears from their eyes as they embraced. It turned out that for years they had been afraid of meeting each other, but each woman had, in fact, found a friend and even a sister. They were very different, but Cat and Beth immediately starting seeing how much they really had in common.

"What shall we do about telling Polly?" asked Beth softly. "Do we dare?"

"You know her well – what do you think?" responded Cat.

Beth answered thoughtfully. "I trust her, but she can react too quickly sometimes when she isn't familiar with something. I think we should wait and let her get to know the boys better – in their home place here. And, of course, we would have to wait and ask them. Joshua knows how impulsive Polly can be, but like his friend Jim, she's true blue."

Cat smiled at Beth's description of Christy's as the boys' home place. It surely was true and she took great pride in it.

The five of them had a warm, delicious dinner in the back of the hotel that night. No one could deny that Cat was a wonderful cook. And Polly contributed to the warmth by telling silly stories that set everyone to laughing.

"There was an old judge," said she, "who boarded with my parents at their big old place in New Jersey years ago. He liked to be very dignified and dressed in high paper collars and kept his shoes all shined bright. He was so careful about his clothes that he got into his trousers while standing on the bed so his cuffs wouldn't get dusty on the floor. We all knew he did that – you could look through the lace curtains and see him! One day he slipped off the bed and sat right on the stove – and oh how fast he got up again and how he howled!" That set everyone to laughing, so Polly added to it, "And one day our pretty maid, Opal, was writing a love letter to her beau and she had to go answer the door before she finished it. And the old judge came across the letter there on the dining room table and was sure it was for him! And he went around after that maid saying, 'Miss Opal! Miss Opal!' She ran as hard as she could away from that silly old judge!"

Polly appreciated the laugher all around the table, but perhaps didn't understand why Joshua and Thaddeus laughed quite so hard. Of course, they did have a special appreciation for any stories that made fun of judges!

But just when Heyes was about to tell some silly stories back, they heard the sounds from the gambling house out front change suddenly. A scream came from one of the saloon girls and the roar of voices quieted and then surged. The Kid and Cat, and then the Kid and Heyes, exchanged glances. The Kid and Heyes took the lead as the three went out front to see what was going on and what they could do about it. This left a very frightened Beth and Polly alone in the back room.

"I guess Thaddeus can quiet them down, and Cat, of course, has to know what's going on in her own place. But why did Joshua go with them?" Asked Polly in a nervous whisper.

"Because he's Thaddeus's partner," responded Beth without a moment's hesitation.

Polly said anxiously, "I know that, but I've never understood what that means. Nobody has partners in the east – except business men."

"Well, I guess what it means here is that Joshua wouldn't leave his partner alone with any danger." Beth said, answering for herself as much as for Polly. "And Thaddeus would do the same for him."

Shortly, the sounds from the saloon settled down. Then Cat came back to see to her guests. "There was a drunken man with a gun causing trouble, but Thaddeus settled him down and saw him off. And Joshua found the table where he'd been gambling and sorted out the money and the arguments there. Between them, those boys can cope with about anything."

"How did Thaddeus dare to confront a man with a gun?" asked Polly, baffled. "Isn't it dangerous?"

"Of course it's dangerous! But he's used to it and no one would ever challenge him with a gun," said Cat proudly.

"Why not?" Polly asked, innocently.

"Why Thaddeus is the fastest gun in . . . these parts – didn't you know?" Cat answered, as if every school child would know this. Of course, what she really knew was that the parts where Thaddeus was the fastest gun extended to the whole West! But she couldn't say that to Polly – at least not yet.

"No, I didn't know." Polly's eyes were very wide. "Do you think he'd show me his fast draw some time?"

Cat laughed. It would never occur to her to ask a man to demonstrate his draw to a woman! These eastern women were very strange – and very bold. "You'll have to ask him yourself, Polly."

"Just don't ask Joshua to draw against him," added Beth, "He said Thaddeus has been able to outdraw him since Joshua was twelve and Thaddeus was ten! Joshua was so embarrassed by it - they haven't shot against each other since then!"

What Beth didn't include was that the day when the boy Jed had outdrawn his older cousin Heyes had been the day when he had won the name of Kid Curry. Heyes had recounted to Beth how he had told his little fair-haired cousin, "With a draw as dangerous as that, you need a dangerous name to go with it."


	26. Chapter 26

Cat went to check on the saloon floor and found the boys by the bar talking closely together. They looked up at her in question and she gestured towards the back. Were they ready to come? "You got it now, Joe?" the Kid asked the bar tender.

"Looks calm to me, Mr. Jones," Joe answered. "After the little display of fast draw you put on, that guy won't be back anytime soon."

"He's right about that! You keep the place running real smooth, don't you," said Heyes with a proud smile.

"With you to sort out the money and tempers, Joshua," agreed the Kid, just as proudly. "it's just a bit easier than usual." Just as when they had ridden together with their gang, each of the partners was almost as proud of the other's skills and triumphs as of his own.

The pair turned and walked into the back room. The Kid looked over his shoulder at the pudgy blonde bartender, "Glad it's under control. We got visitors in back, so we'll trust you to keep an eye out here for us. Give a call if anything else happens."

"We'll both come," added Heyes with a wink. The bartender knew who they both really were, so he could well believe that the Kid and Heyes, together, could handle nearly anything that might happen in even the rowdiest saloon.

As the pair came in the door of the back room, Polly piped up "Will you show me your fast draw, Thaddeus? Tomorrow?"

The Kid looked at the three women, and looked hard at Cat. Then he switched his gaze back to Polly, "No! That's a dangerous thing to do in town, and it's too snowy to get out of town. Even you ought to know that, Miss Moore. A bullet can fly a mile and do a lot of damage before it stops."

"I never said he'd agree," said Cat.

The Kid and Heyes both looked a bit tense at that. The Kid smiled at Polly, but looked less pleased with Cat. "It's getting late, honey. I think we'd better all go to bed. Joe can watch the floor for us – said he would. Good-night, Polly, Beth, Joshua."

"I didn't mean to suggest anything dangerous, Thaddeus. Cat didn't think I should ask you, but she was too polite to say it. Good-night, Thaddeus, Joshua, Cat" said Polly, chastened.

They all said good-night, but the carefree atmosphere of earlier in the evening had dissipated. Perhaps the Western frontier was a more dangerous place than Polly had realized, or than Cat and Beth had liked to remember when they were enjoying their new friendship.

As they got to their room, the Kid looked accusingly at Cat, "What did you say to that woman, Cat?"

Cat, who was usually so careful, felt bad, "I'm sorry, honey. She was worried about you and the upset out front. I wanted to make her feel better and said you were the fastest gun around."

The Kid grimaced, "You didn't say the fastest in the West, did you? Not even sure that's true anymore – if it ever was. And it sure ain't safe to say."

Cat squeezed her man's hand. "No, Kid, of course I didn't say that! I wouldn't ever say that. I didn't mean to worry you. I guess I got a bit careless. I mean, we are going to tell her, right?"

The Kid put his arm around Cat's shoulder as they sat on the bed together and began to undress, "You didn't ask us about that yet! I ain't sure Heyes would agree, and I ain't sure I will, either! Heyes don't think she's any too steady, and he knows her pretty well."

Cat took off her shoes, "Beth said we ought to wait and see how things went before we decided, and I guess she was right."

The Kid gave Cat a gentle kiss to take the sting out of his words, "Keep an eye on Polly and keep your ears open! I appreciate that Beth wanted to come be with her man and she had to bring whoever she could get last minute, but that don't mean we should forget that every person who learns our little secret is one more danger to us all!"

Meanwhile, in the room they were sharing, Beth and Polly were also getting undressed. "If I wasn't here, would you and Joshua be in the same room?" asked Polly with a wicked smile, as she drew off her stockings.

"What a thing to ask! How improper do you think people are out west?" gasped Beth.

"Not so very much more improper than they are in your office after hours, I guess," said Polly, giggling.

"Well here you are, so we'll never know, will we?" Beth said, laughing, too.

The next day was clear and bright, so Joshua took Beth and Polly on a little tour around the town. Beth was particularly stunned by the mountains looming so high and so close, all snow-covered and gleaming against the blue sky. And there was an ice-covered lake just outside town ice where local couples were cutting graceful figures on skates while a man played the accordion. But Polly, who seemed to have read nearly as many western novels as Jim had, was delighted to see such typical western town features as the land office, and the bank with its iron bars over the windows, and the little local opera house. She stopped outside the sheriff's office, "Can't we go in and see the wanted posters?"

"No!" said Joshua firmly. "You might find more in there than you really want to see, ladies. I don't know who might be in the cage, but they don't put guys in there for fun. That's a serious place."

Beth looked at her man with concern. She knew that he had been in more than one of those cages himself. She hurried Polly along past the iron-barred windows.

On the way back to Christy's Place they went to the stable around back. Both ladies wanted to meet Joshua and Thaddeus's horses. They found Thaddeus there currying his bay gelding. He hoped to be able to go for a ride later, if the weather stayed good.

"Well good afternoon, ladies!" said the blue-eyed man, looking over the stall door at them. "Here, Blackie, turn round and say hello to Miss Beth and Miss Polly. Ladies, this is my horse. He's carried me a lot of miles.

"And this old boy next door to him is my horse, Clay," said Heyes, as Clay put his head over the stall door to give a loud whuffle and nuzzle his master.

"Why do you call him that?" asked Polly, as she reached over to pat the tall gelding's neck.

"Because he's a claybank dun," explained Joshua. "See how he's red brown like a chestnut, but with a kind of soft dusty cast over his body? But you can really tell a claybank by the red mane and tail and the red stripe down his back and the stripes on his legs." He led the horse out of the stall by his halter so they could see him properly in the stable aisle.

"Look at him pose so proudly," said Beth, "he knows how handsome he is!" she patted Clay's shoulder.

"Forget how pretty he is! That isn't why I wouldn't sell him for any money," said Joshua, as his horse rubbed his poll on his master's shoulder.

"Then why?" asked Polly, since he obviously wanted to be asked.

Scratching Clay behind one ear, Joshua proudly informed them, "Because he's the most sensible horse I've ever known. Saved my life, and Thaddeus's, more than once."

"Specially the night Joshua got shot in the head," said Thaddeus. "Clay was lame that night, so we were both up on Blackie. So I grabbed onto Joshua and held him in the saddle when he got shot by those hunters. It was dark, and I didn't know which way to go, and of course Joshua was out cold. Blackie carried us both like a champion, but couldn't find his way. It was Clay, limping bad all the way, who led us right to Cat's place. We could've died out there in the cold if he hadn't gone right. September in these mountains can get awful cold! And Joshua would've died out in the wild anyway, if we hadn't gotten to the doctor."

"Goodness!" exclaimed Polly, who knew, like everyone at the Leutze clinic, that Joshua had been shot in the head. But she, and even Beth, had never heard the story in detail before. As Thaddeus spoke, Beth had gone over to hold Joshua's hand. She knew how he hated to hear or think about that night.

"Well, we'd better go back and see the lady who also saved my life that night," said Heyes. "Cat will have lunch ready for us and be wondering when we'll get there to eat it."

The tension of the first night had passed and the five friends enjoyed themselves together, but the matter of the boys' true names had not yet been allowed to come next day, they were eating dinner in the back room when there was a knock at the door. It was Sheriff Wilde, wearing his tin star and looking rather stern. Cat turned to her man in concern, and Polly looked, if anything, even more worried than the rest of them.

"Pardon me, folks, but can I have a moment of Mr. Jones' time?" asked the Sheriff.

"Of course, Sheriff," said Thaddeus. "What is it?" The two men walked out the door together, and the women exchanged anxious glances.

"Don't worry," said Cat, in contradiction of her look, "Thaddeus helps the sheriff out now and then. They must have some business to discuss."

Polly looked more relieved even than Beth and Cat when Thaddeus came back into the room. "Sorry ladies – Sheriff Wilde just needed to tell me something."

"What?" asked Cat bluntly.

"Oh, just a man for us to watch for in the saloon. Nobody I ever seen. Nothin' to worry you." Thaddeus sat down and dug into the rest of his dinner seeming utterly unconcerned.

The next day was Christmas Eve. Heyes got out his guitar and they spent the afternoon singing Christmas carols and telling stories. Beth and Cat carefully kept away from telling childhood Christmas stories, knowing how painful this would be for their men.

After a very pleasant dinner, Heyes found a moment to get Beth alone by the fire in the back room. There was almost no one in the front room, so Thaddeus and Cat felt free to show the very curious Polly around what a real saloon looked like.

"Beth, I have something for you. I hope it fits." Heyes brought out a very small black velvet box, not wrapped.

Beth blushed as Heyes reached for her left hand. She opened the tiny box. There was a slender, plain silver ring inside. "It's pretty small and I'm sorry it's only silver," said Heyes. "When I've got a real income and not just loans, I'll do better by you. But I don't want you to be embarrassed, going around with a man too cheap to give you a ring."

Beth wiped tears from her eyes with her right hand as Heyes slide the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. "Oh Heyes!"

They kissed gently. As their lips parted, Heyes looked at the ring gleaming in the firelight on Beth's finger, "What a beautiful finger!"

Beth sobbed, "It's a beautiful ring! Thank you so much! But how can you afford it?"

Heyes himself blushed, "I can't – but my friends' loans will cover it. I'll pay them back when I get a faculty post."

"You've never told me exactly who those friends of yours are, who are financing your education," Beth said, leadingly.

"Well, shall we say, they're old friends. . ." Heyes answered.

"I see!" Beth grinned understandingly, "Friends from . . . before. Well, they have nothing to worry about from me, you know that. If you trust them, and they trust you, that's all I need to know." Beth, caressed Heyes' hand gently and they kissed again. It was hard having to part as everyone went up to bed after that.

In the morning, Polly saw Beth's ring shining on her hand as they woke up in the blazing sunshine that poured through the curtains.

"Oh Beth! Merry Christmas! And Congratulations!" cried Polly

Beth smiled broadly, "Thank you, and Merry Christmas, Polly! I'm afraid it'll be kind of a long engagement, since we have to wait until Joshua finishes his degrees and gets a job so he can support me. You know men – they insist on doing the supporting."

Polly gave her friend a hug, "But Beth, think how happy you'll be when the day finally gets here! And it sure will, before you know it."

After breakfast they exchanged small presents. Polly, of course, having just been added to the party a day before they had left, had nothing substantial for her hosts except some elegant little bars of chocolate, nicer than any candy the westerners had ever seen. And for her, they had one of Clay's shoes scrubbed clean and painted gold to bring her good luck. It really was the thought that counted most. She said she would treasure it.

"Actually," said Polly in the most serious tone they had heard her use yet, "I have a present for all of you that I hope will thank you all for your generous hospitality. And to help you all relax a bit and enjoy the rest of the holidays more. And that's just to wish you a very merry Christmas, Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry."

Four mouths fell open. "How did you . . .?" Heyes began anxiously.

"I've known ever since the day the newsboys were shouting about your death and Beth fainted," said Polly, "it wasn't hard to figure out, with all I knew already."

Heyes looked at Beth, "You fainted? Aw, sweetie! I'm sorry I worried you."

While Heyes held his lady in his arms, the Kid asked Polly, "So one faint told you?"

"Well, we all knew he'd been shot in the head out West. And your descriptions were both in the papers over and over, and I've heard all Jim had to say about you two – not knowing it was you, of course. And when you, Mr. Curry, showed up at the clinic that day before you left for Colorado, and I saw how you fit Kid Curry's description like a glove, it was kind of undeniable."

"You've been very discrete, Polly," said Beth, "I'm sorry we hadn't told you yet, but you do understand why, with their lives at risk. . ."

"Of course I understand!" Polly said, smiling, "So, who else knows – who can I talk to without giving you away?"

Heyes chuckled, "Too long a list, now! When we first went straight five years ago, it was a pretty short list – our fellow outlaws, a couple of grifters and card sharps – now it's turning into the most complicated Hannibal Heyes plan ever hatched! Let's see, out here everyone who knows is in this room now except for the Sheriff – yes, he looks the other way since he knows we're straight and going for amnesty. And one of his deputies knows. And there's Joe the bartender who was there when the Teasdale boys spotted us. And there's one friend in Montana. And in New York, there's Beth, and Dr. Leutze, and Jim, and Charlie and Marie Homer, and one doctor at the hospital. And I'm afraid there's one hostile woman in Boston who reported me a while back. That's the whole list of people we've told - formally. I imagine there must be a few around Christy's Place who have their suspicions."

"No one else at Columbia? No one else here? I'd say that's a short list – to have them be the only friends you can be honest with. I'm honored to be part of it, Mr. Curry and Mr. Heyes," said Polly.

"On, please call me Jed – when we're with just people on that list," volunteered the Kid with a warm smile.

"And you can call me Heyes, in private," added the other partner. "I should have known you'd figured it out. I knew there was something going on when Sheriff Wilde came and got Thaddeus, and Polly, you looked so worried – even scared! You thought he was being arrested! But the rest of us didn't worry much because we knew that the Sheriff's safe. You do realize we've been straight for five years now?"

Polly nodded, "I didn't know it was that long, but it was pretty clear that you're on the right side of the law now. Beth wouldn't go around with an active outlaw."

"No – I found that out! It was when I told her who I was that she left me," Heyes took Beth's hand so she would know that he wasn't still mad at her.

Beth squeezed his hand back, "But I came back to Heyes - when I understood better. And Cat's been loyal to the Kid right through."

"We do appreciate you being so careful, Miss Polly," said the Kid. "I'm sorry I was cross with you when you wanted to see my fast draw. But it really is dangerous for people to see that."

"Yeah, as fast as he is – it's pretty obvious that he's a real professional, and not just any professional" said Cat.

Heyes looked gratefully at Polly, "We do appreciate your discretion, Polly. I'm sure you appreciate the situation. One wrong word, and there could be a bullet in each of our backs. But I hope you can come to our wedding – if the governor of Wyoming Territory ever gets around to giving us amnesty so we can safely marry. We just can't until then."

They had Dr. Grauer over for Christmas dinner. Heyes was always glad to be able to keep the doctor up on what was going on with his education. It made for a lively party of six around the back table, with holly leaves and berries brightening the board for Christmas.

Heyes was telling the doctor excitedly, "So, yes, Doc, I'm planning on going on for my M.A. and hoping to teach. Maybe I'll even get to come back out here to the West to one of those new colleges they're setting up all over. What do you think of that?"

The graying old doctor looked at Heyes through his glasses, "You sure have come a long way since that night when you got here, all streaming blood, Joshua. The trouble we took keeping you alive was well worth it, wasn't it, Cat?"

"Seems like it, Doc!" Cat agreed, "Although sometimes I guess Thaddeus wishes he hadn't learned to talk quite so fast! Sometimes Joshua does have an awful lot to say and it's hard for uneducated folks like Thaddeus and me to keep up!" She winked at Heyes, who laughed.

Heyes grinned modestly, "But seriously, Doc, I never will forget not just how you saved my life, but how you sent telegrams all over the country looking for the right doctor to treat me. If you hadn't matched me up with Dr. Leutze, I might still be silent. I'm mighty grateful!"

"That's alright, son. That's what I'm here to do," answered the Doc quietly, with a thoughtful look. "It's wonderful to hear all your plans, Joshua. But I do worry about how hard it might be for it all to happen. I mean – teaching college level?"

"I'm surprised at you, Doc!" exclaimed Heyes, "you've always believed in me before."

The doctor looked sadly at his former patient. "It isn't you I don't believe in. It's everyone else. I think you know what I mean. I just don't want the cold old world to break that passionate, brilliant heart of yours over your name." The doctor looked cautiously at Polly.

Heyes looked solemnly at Dr. Grauer. He knew what the man was talking about. "Don't worry. She knows. She figured it out just like you did. You've always known, haven't you?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, Heyes. I can read a poster as well as any man, and I didn't forget the most famous pair of outlaws in the West just because they'd been keeping out of the limelight for a couple of years. I've known who you were ever since that first night when the Kid brought you in, shot up, horse lame, giving the names Smith and Jones. Hunter shot you my foot! A bounty hunter! And when I saw how smart you were, even silent, I knew I was right. I'd heard it said that Hannibal Heyes was the smartest man west of the Mississippi, and I believe whoever started saying that might just be pretty close to right. But like I say, just because you're smart, doesn't mean they'll let you teach. That name of yours could make things awful tough for you. I just hope you can get other people to believe in you like I do."

"I know you're right, Doc," agreed Heyes, sadly. "I'll just keep trying and hope they come around."

"I know he can convince those University administrators to believe in him, Doc!" said Beth ardently. "They have to believe!"

"And if they don't, you sure do, huh, Beth?" asked the doctor with a little smile.

One Sunday in January, Heyes took Beth and Polly over to Boulder so they could see that burgeoning city. They went to church, and then walked past the grand new court house. Heyes was interested to look at the still fairly new University there, which had been founded in 1876. It was all housed in a single big red brick building – very different from the big university Heyes was used to.

As they walked down the board sidewalk in the middle of town, Heyes started to see a man and woman walking along across the street from them. "Pardon me!" Heyes said to his companions, "but I need to speak with those folks. Back soon."

Heyes crossed the muddy street and cautiously approached the strolling couple. He tipped his old black hat to the lady, "Pardon me, but are you Peggy, who used to live in Louisville? I'm sorry no one ever told me your last name before you were married."

Peggy looked up a Joshua, startled, clapping her hand to her mouth in amazement. "Oh my goodness, Joshua! You can talk now! You can talk just perfect now! Carlos, this is Joshua Smith, who got shot in the head and couldn't say a word."

"Mr. . . ?" Heyes held out his hand to the burly black bearded man walking next to Peggy, dressed in a handsome suit.

The man extended his hand, but with some caution. He knew what Peggy had done for a living before they were married. He knew how she had come to know many men, "Ortiz – Carlos Ortiz. So you knew Peggy before we were married?"He spoke with a mild Mexican accent.

Heyes nodded. "Yes, Mr. Ortiz. She was kindness itself to me when I needed it most. I'm afraid I startled you, Peggy. I know you've never heard my voice before. It's been so long! Belated congratulations on your marriage. I hope you are both very happy."

Peggy smiled shyly, "Yes, Joshua, we are – very happy. Carlos is a wonderful man. But I see you have left two ladies to come and see us. Shall we cross over and say howdy to them?"

"If you would like to," said Heyes self-consciously. It was undeniably awkward for him to introduce his fiancé to his former lover. They crossed the street with Peggy between the two men.

As they arrived, Heyes said, "Mr. and Mrs. Ortiz, may I present my fiancé, Elizabeth Warren, and her friend Mary Moore? Ladies, Peggy Ortiz was very kind to me when I had first been shot and couldn't talk. We haven't seen each other in years and I hadn't met her husband before."

"I'm glad to know you, Mrs. Ortiz," said Beth graciously. "I appreciate the kindness you showed to Joshua. Polly and I work at the Leutze clinic in New York City, where we treat people with aphasia – the trouble that Joshua had after he was shot. He has made the most wonderful progress. We are all very proud of him." Heyes took Beth's arm as she spoke.

"I manage a gold mine near here, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Ortiz, "what are you doing with yourself now that you're so much better?"

Heyes smiled at Beth, "Thanks to the work Miss Warren did with me – she was my tutor at the clinic – I'm earning a degree in mathematics at Columbia University in New York City. I know it's hard to believe it, Peggy, but it's true. I hope to teach college math myself one day."

Peggy's mouth had fallen open, "Oh Joshua, they all said you was the smartest thing, with all your number even when you couldn't talk. They was right, wasn't they?"

"They were," said Beth, "but he also works very hard. He doesn't take anything for granted."

"I try not to," said Heyes.

That night Heyes and Beth were alone in Heyes' room while Polly and Cat were baking delicious smelling things downstairs. "So Peggy worked here? She was your lover, wasn't she?" asked Beth between kisses.

Heyes couldn't lie to the woman he was going to marry. "Yes, honey, she was. I hope you don't mind. It was never anything that would last and she knew it. I was just awfully lonely when I couldn't talk. She left here to marry Ortiz only a few months after I went to New York. But she was very good to me, and I couldn't just ignore her."

Beth ran a hand lovingly down her fiancé's neck, "Of course, not, Heyes! Your politeness and respectfulness are two of the many things I love about you. And no, I don't mind. I know you had other lovers before me – just as long as you don't have any others now!"

"No, darling. I cleave only to you, and that's the way it'll stay."


	27. Chapter 27

"Can you understand a word that man says, Missouri?" griped Joshua Smith as he and his friend the young prodigy Paul Huxtable walked out of the second meeting of their spring aesthetics class. "If it ain't something as I haven't read yet out of Plato or Aristotle, it's something from Plotinus or Philostraties which we ain't going to read anyhow. Or it's some damn bit of French as I can't make heads or tails of. Makes me feel like a three-legged donkey at a horse race."

Smith had miscalculated Professor Reynolds' trajectory – the very man Smith had just been complaining of so feelingly emerged from behind a line of departing students. Joshua was horrified to see that the professor had been close enough to hear his deliberately colloquial speech of frustration. The slender silvery-haired professor remarked in his unctuous Oxford accent, with an unpleasant smile, "Why, is the famed leading student in the Junior class facing challenges in philosophy? It's Philostratus, Smith, not Philostraties. Maybe I should add him to your reading list if the lack is causing you problems? Perhaps he was not included in the courses you took in one-room western school houses?"

Huxtable could swear he saw a tiny abortive gesture of the westerner's right hand as if he was reaching to draw a gun from a holster – although of course Smith wasn't wearing a holster on campus at Columbia University. "No thank you, Professor," replied Smith with an obsequious mildness that did not deceive the object of his hatred, "I'm sure your . . . explanatory abilities can easily fill the gap."

"Well, if you're sure, Smith. Perhaps if you could learn how to total the ideas of great minds as easily as you do numbers . . ." The philosophy professor turned and walked away, swinging his stylish cane. As the slender British professor retreated, Smith spat toward his back with deliberate coarseness.

Huxtable laughed with wicked enjoyment at his friend, and academic rival's, discomfort. The pair headed rapidly down the hall toward their next classes, "You sure have managed to get his back up in a hurry, Smith! That Reynolds is one Englishman who does not love cowboys the way Professor Cornwall does in history. You won't get an easy A from Reynolds."

Smith nodded. "'Fraid not. Or an A at all, I'm betting. No matter what I do on exams and papers. You'll get the class rank title this semester and no context, Huxtable. Unless somebody else beats you out. Bye – here's my physics class."

The next day, Heyes went to see Charlie Homer in his advisor's office. "Seriously, Charlie, Professor Reynolds hates me. Teasing me about one-room schoolhouses and cowboy boots- and aphasia - right there in front of the other students! And I swear he makes all those classical allusions and drops all those little French remarks just to flummox me personally!"

Homer shook his head ruefully, "No, there you're wrong Smith. Reynolds always teaches like that, from what I hear. He just can't talk without showing off what he knows, whether it means anything to his students or not. It's a bad academic habit, but not that rare. You'll run into it again before you're done at Columbia, I'm sure. The only way to combat it is to have as broad and excellent a reading background as you can get. Coming from your past, it's just never going to be easy. So many of the students come from families where this stuff was casual dinner table conversation.

I can't help you a lot with the learned stuff myself – it's not my line of country at all. But I'll bet Diana Hargrove can help you with the allusions and some French, too. It's too bad it's too late in the semester for you to add another class – French would be a real help to you in a lot of ways. I should have recommended it before now. And Huxtable might be able to help you out some, as well. He's pretty decent at French, you know."

Heyes felt a bit relieved. At least he knew what he could do to help. More work! "Thanks, Charlie! I'll do all I can. But you know I won't get the class rank lead this semester – barring a miracle. I'll do my best, but . . ."

Charlie Homer nodded, "I know. There's only so much you can learn in one semester. And don't let your other classes slide because of this one! It might be better to just drop the aesthetics. There are other humanities classes you can take later to fill the requirement."

Heyes flared up angrily, "No! I'm not going to let that bastard beat me, or slow down my plan for early graduation! I'm not going to put the Kid's life in danger for another half a year because of that ass hole!"

Homer grinned, "He is pretty obnoxious, isn't he? But you should know that not all you've run into with Reynolds is about you. I'm afraid you're run afoul of something that isn't your fault at all. I got a faculty award – with money attached – a few years ago when Reynolds thought he was in line for it. He had been planning to use that money for a trip back to England. When he didn't get it, he was pretty badly disappointed. He's been out for my blood ever since. And the blood of my top students."

"That totally unfair!" cried Heyes.

"And since when has life been fair?" was Homer's totally rhetorical question.

Heyes took up Homer on his suggestions. He went to see Professor Hargrove, with whom he had always gotten along very well. She had even given him permission to call her by her first time – a most unusual liberty between a student and professor.

Smith and the professor sat in her neatly fixed little office. "Diana, I'd be real grateful if you could help me cope with all Reynolds' little learned . . . allusions. If I can use this situation to actually learn something, then so much the better."

Professor Hargrove smiled fondly at her strange western student, "That's the spirit, Joshua! Don't let the bastard get you! Write down whatever he says that you don't get and we'll meet once a week to go over them. I doubt either one of us has time to meet more often than that – what about Tuesday afternoons at 4:30?"

"Sounds good to me, Diana. Except for one thing. I can't always write that fast – you know, the aphasia. In his class it always seems to kick up worse than any other time." Joshua felt a bit ashamed to admit this, but it was true.

Professor Hargrove tilted her striking face in thought, "Hmn. Huxtable has no trouble, you say? Why don't you work out a signal with him – have him write down the little catch phrases and quotations for you? And he can get the French when you can't. You really should take French when you can fit it in. You wouldn't believe how often it can come in handy in academia."

Smith grinned, "You are brilliant, Diana! You should have been . . . well, no I think you're doing what you do best."

"What was it you were going to suggest I'd do well at?" Professor Hargrove asked with a sparkle in her eye. She had long had a feeling that there was more to Joshua Smith's past than he let on and she had a feeling that he had nearly let some part of it slip.

"Nothing." Joshua shook his head and left for his next class. He couldn't tell his mentor what he had nearly said – that she would have made a wonderful outlaw!

Coming out of aesthetics the next day, Smith, making sure the professor was well clear, said to Huxtable, "He's at it again, Missouri. French left and right. You taught me how to say good luck and that's all I know! Do you understand any of it?"

"Mais oui, mon cher ami. Every word," answer Huxtable with a sparkle in his green eyes.

"There you go again! French! I don't get a word of it! How is it so easy for you?" Smith hated to feel stupid.

"Because I heard bits and pieces of it growing up – from my parents and their friends. They're educated folks – you know they're both professors. Honestly, you didn't hear any French at all in your home growing up?" Huxtable asked innocently.

Smith stiffened and his eyes went dull. "No." He had been intending to ask Huxtable to help him, but now he just couldn't do it. He couldn't have his friend making fun of his background, or worse, pitying him. He just turned to go.

Huxtable tagged him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Joshua. You've never told me anything about your growing up. I guess it must have been pretty bad, or you would have. I didn't mean to . . ."

"Just leave me alone, boy!" Smith turned sharply into his next class.

The next afternoon during a gap between classes, Smith was studying avidly in the math lounge. Huxtable came in and, seeing his friend, nearly turned to leave. But Smith stood up and faced him, with resolution in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Missouri, about yesterday. I didn't mean to - . . . I grew up in an orphanage, Paul. Not a nice one. My parents were killed in the border wars when I was nine. My whole family was, except one cousin. There are some pretty bad memories. So I don't have much . . . . intellectual . . . background. I'd be really grateful if you'd help me. Please."

Huxtable was shocked and couldn't speak for a moment. "I'd be happy if I can help you, Joshua. I never knew. I didn't mean to . . . to hurt you. It's hard to hear you ask for help. Everything's always seemed to be so easy for you."

Smith shook his head. "It isn't. Nothing is – well, except some of the math that's almost . . . instinct. Everything else is hard. I guess I've just learned, more than anything, how worth while it is to work hard for my education."

Huxtable, for whom so many things were, indeed, easy, realized that here was something that he himself would have to work hard to learn- what it was like for someone who didn't come along just knowing so many things the way he did. He said to his friend, "Let's get together tonight. We can have dinner and then I'll work with you on whatever you like. Alright?"

"Alright, Missouri. Thank you." Heyes would always remember that that phrase was the first he had gotten back when he started at the Leutze clinic. It would always mean a lot to him and he hoped that his young friend understood that.

Smith and Huxtable worked together often after that, working on just general intellectual background. Their other friends, Ev Carter and Neal George, worked with them as well more and more as the semester went on. They both could help to teach – Neal in particular had picked up a great deal working in publishing – but they also both learned a lot from each other and from Huxtable. It was a fun new way of being friends, and Heyes learned countless things from their sessions. It might not enable him to get an A plus out of Professor Reynolds, but it helped him in academic life generally and was lots of fun.

One day late in the semester, just before exams, they were in the math lounge having one last session. Huxtable was about to leave – he had an exam early the next morning and wanted to bone up a bit. But he stayed for just a few more minutes to listen.

"Tell me about this quote from Shakespeare, NG," said Ev, "about the length of Prester John's foot. You said you knew what that means."

NG smiled – it was fun to be able to share some of what he had picked up from all the lead type he had set over the years, "Back in the middle ages he – Prester John – was supposed to be some mighty Christian King is a distant Asian land – no one knew quite where. So if you could actually find Prester John and measure his foot, I guess you would have done quite a big thing. Even Marco Polo was supposed to be looking to find Prester John when he went to China."

"Marco Polo? I've heard the name – an Italian in the middle ages, I know – when did he go to China?" asked Smith.

"In the thirteenth century!" piped up Huxtable, "the first European to get there! He wrote a book about it that everyone and his brother read! 'Marco Millions' they called him because he was always describing millions of this and millions of that out in China."

As they were talking, Aldy Clarksdale and his obnoxious minions came into the lounge. None of Heyes' friends could stand that arrogant, wealthy clique. "I'd better go," said Huxtable, "Got to study!"

"Me, too!" said NG and Ev agreed. Soon they were all gone except Huxtable, who was delayed by gathering up his pile of books. The top one kept slipping out of his hands.

Aldy Clarksdale grabbed up the book and pulled it away from Huxtable. He tossed it to one of his obsequious followers – "Put that where he can't get it!" yelled Clarksdale, while two other friends knocked the other books away and held Huxtable's arms.

The guy with the book ran down the stairs and didn't have the book when he got back. Then the other two let go of Huxtable's arms and the whole crowd when off, laughing. Huxtable was so small and so young that he had no chance against a crowd of young men years older than he was and that included three men over six foot three.

Huxtable growled and set off down the stairs to get his missing book. As he got to the first landing, Joshua Smith stepped out of the shadows and grabbed his arm. "Stop. Do without the book. Go back up. Now."

Huxtable was puzzled and annoyed. "What are you talking about, Kansas? I'm going to get my book."

Smith spoke levelly, looking into the eyes of his young friend, "No, you aren't. They're waiting for you in the basement. Just do without the book. We've got to leave – now." He started up the stairs, but Huxtable was headed down them.

"I need that book more than any of them – for the exam tomorrow! I need that exam to go perfectly!" cried Huxtable as he stamped down the stairs.

Smith turned to follow him. Suddenly, a door opened on the landing. There was a brief scuffle, but suddenly everything went black.

"Smith! Smith! Wake up!" Joshua heard his friend Huxtable calling.

"Uh," Joshua moaned. He opened his eyes to find himself tied up on a cold floor in the dark with just a small beam of light coming into the room from a window high above. The beam of light – the last beam of sunset - showed the book that Huxtable had been after – lying on the floor just beyond where he was.

"Oh, no!" cried Huxtable, "they've got us both tied up tight with rope and I heard them lock that door. We're in the basement. Oh wonderful! We could be here for days! Or at least hours – probably no one will be down here at least until morning when the janitors come. If they bother to come down here. I really wouldn't know."

Heyes sighed. "Just shut up Missouri," he said, "stop panicking, and let me work. You might just shut your eyes and go to sleep."

Huxtable sounded really irritated, "Oh! Fat chance of that, Kansas! What do you mean, work? It would take a miracle to get us out of this before morning! It would take an angel to fly in the window like they did to free Saint Peter from prison!"

"I said for you to shut up, Huxtable. Unless you really want to be here all night. Shut up and let me work and I'll have us out of here in no time. But you've got to promise me that you won't tell anyone what happened – not any part of it. No one at all can know anything about it. Don't bring charges against Clarksdale and company, and don't tell them how I got you out. And don't ask me any questions whatsoever about it. Otherwise we sit here until the janitors come. I don't have a big exam tomorrow and while I would rather not sit here all night, I will if you don't promise to keep your yap shut. Deal, Missouri?"

Huxtable paused and stared at his friend in the dark. "What . . .?"

"No questions. Whatsoever. Starting now," Smith insisted.

Young Huxtable sounded more than a little scared. "Alright. Deal. Sorry we can't shake on it."

"Deal," said Smith, "now be very quiet." In the quiet that followed, Huxtable could hear his friend writhing around and panting. Within no more than ten minutes, Joshua Smith had freed his own hands. Then he untied his feet and stood up stiffly. He quickly had Huxtable untied.

"Ho . . .?"

"No questions!" repeated Smith. He handed the precious book to Huxtable, and then went into the darkness. When he returned, Smith had something small and jingling in his hands. He went to the pool of light and chose a couple of picks from his ring of over 100 pick locks.

He went to the door and had it opened in about two minutes. "No questions!" he repeated to Huxtable as he led him up the stairs.

The rest of Huxtable's books were still lying in the math lounge where they had fallen from his hands less than an hour before. Paul Huxtable stared at Joshua Smith as they came into the gas lit room. There was a little blood on Smith's wrists, but only a little. "Alright, no questions. But a statement. You've done this kind of thing before. A whole lot more than once. Those scars around your wrists – this isn't exactly the hardest escape you've ever managed. That's a fact."

Smith looked at his friend with pain and sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I meant the no questions thing. It's very, very serious. Life or death. I promise to tell you all about it one day, Huxtable. But I don't have sole . . . authority over that information and I'm not the only one at risk. Unless you want to give Clarksdale and friends a whole lot of power over us both, and unless you place no value at all on my life, you won't tell anyone about what just happened. Not the fight and not the tying up and not the escape. And I mean anyone – not your family, and absolutely not the University . . . authorities or any of our friends or professors. No one."

"That was the deal. I can keep my end. I do value your life. You can be sure of that. Thank you, Joshua Smith. Or whoever you really are," Paul Huxtable put out his hand and shook the hand of Hannibal Heyes.


	28. Chapter 28

Heyes helped Huxtable to carry his pile of books up to his room to study. They started out close side by side on the sidewalk, with the Missourian trying not to wonder and worry too much about what had just happened. But soon it was impossible for the former outlaw not to realize that the math prodigy from Missouri was moving a bit to the side and staring at him, although he looked away whenever he saw Heyes noticing his look. Huxtable looked frightened. He was scared of a man who had been his friend for more than two years. Of a man who had wielded a pistol to defend him down by the docks. As they walked on the sidewalk, there was more and more distance between the eighteen-year-old and the thirty-six-year-old.

It was strange for Heyes to think how, just a few years ago, if a young man in his gang gave him trouble, it was no problem. He and the Kid wouldn't think twice about the worries of some teenager who aspired to a life of crime and proved not to be any good at it. The guy was out on his ear and wouldn't dare to make trouble for Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. But now, the growing discomfort of his young friend Huxtable was making Heyes miserable. In saving the boy from physical peril, Heyes seemed to have lost him as a friend.

When they got to Huxtable's room, it couldn't have been clearer that the boy didn't want his older friend there. The wide blue eyes looked up uncomfortably. "Thanks, Kansas."

"Don't mention it, Missouri," said Heyes quickly.

"Don't worry, I won't," Huxtable said too quickly, and closed his door in Heyes' face. The westerner wished very much that he had chosen some other turn of phrase, but it probably wouldn't have helped.

As Heyes went down the stairs and out onto the dark sidewalk, it began to rain. Heyes walked home in the dark, in the driving rain, hugging his arms to himself as a cool breeze chilled him. He found himself fingering the scars around his wrists. They weren't noticeable unless someone was really looking for them – or, like Beth, feeling for them. Heyes never thought about these old marks until someone else noticed them – as Beth had, and now Paul Huxtable. How many other people, Heyes wondered, had noticed these and other ineradicable marks of outlawry on him? He felt very cold and very alone. He was so far from the only other person who really identify with his strange situation. He wondered, actually, if even the Kid could quite understand.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

But there were people who did know who Heyes was and to whom he could talk about what had happened. One of them was Charlie Homer. The next morning, the two westerners sat in Homer's little office, one of the few places where Heyes could speak with relative freedom.

Heyes sat in the chair opposite Homer's desk, sounding almost angry at his mentor. "Well what was I supposed to do, Charlie? Just sit there all night - maybe longer and pretend I couldn't do a thing about it? Let him mess up that exam? Maybe miss it entirely?"

Homer sighed and looked with frustration at his student and friend, "Yes, Heyes. That was exactly what you should have done. Come on! You know perfectly well that someone would have come and let you out. Maybe not until two in the morning- but they would have come. One of Clarksdale's guys would have been there."

"What?!" Heyes was completely blindsided.

Homer nodded. "That's the way the game is played. You really didn't know?"

"Game? No, I didn't know! It didn't feel like any game! They knocked me out, Charlie! It still hurts!" Heyes couldn't believe that he could have so completely misunderstood the situation.

Homer looked at Heyes a bit sadly, "Yes, Heyes, game. I'm sorry I hadn't explained it to you well enough before this. You're an upper classman now – things get tougher. But this isn't gang warfare – this is a college prank. They wouldn't really put you in danger. If they hit you that hard, it was a mistake. Had they been drinking?"

"Of course they'd been drinking! But not enough to make their punches any softer." Heyes rubbed the side of his head where the bruise still hurt.

"They didn't knock out Huxtable, did they?" Homer's tone clearly implied that he assumed Huxtable hadn't been hit as hard.

Heyes stopped and queried his memory. "I don't know for sure. He was the one who woke me up. I didn't ask if he'd been knocked out. I wasn't out long – the sun was still shining when I woke up. I guess maybe they didn't knock him out at all. They probably weren't expecting me to be there – I'd gone and hidden on the stairs and they didn't see me until they came for Huxtable in the basement. So they might have hit me harder out surprise."

"Or fear," speculated Homer. "You have a pretty tough reputation on campus. When you decked Clarksdale, word got around. And you know that isn't the only thing you've done that's frightened people. If that bunch was just expecting Huxtable and they got you into the deal, they must have been scared. They probably panicked. If it had been just Huxtable, they might have done a lot less – maybe just tied him up loosely and not locked him in. And let me guess – you were tied up tighter than he was, weren't you."

"Yeah. A lot tighter," Heyes was starting to agree with his advisor. "If they'd tied me like they did him, I would've been free in about 30 seconds. As it was, it took more like ten minutes. Not like a professional job that might take a half hour or more to get out of, though." He chuckled, "Boy, they must have gone about crazy when they came back to the cellar and we weren't there! And then when Huxtable showed up on time for the exam this morning, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed!"

Homer was following out the rest of the equation, like the master mathematician he was. "They're going to be wondering about how it happened. They're going to be wondering about Joshua Smith. You'd better watch your step around here from now on, Heyes!"

"What do you think I've been doing, Charlie?" Heyes rolled his eyes in frustration.

Homer looked solemnly at his student. "Not good enough, Heyes. You've got to keep a very, very low profile outside of the classroom. I'm not saying you need to do less than your best on class. But if something else like this happens – forget you ever knew how to pick a lock, or shoot a gun, or figure out a get-away route. Just sit there - like a regular person. Like a regular mathematics students. Like someone who's never led a gang. Like someone whose name isn't known from coast and coast and into Europe."

"I'll try," sighed Heyes.

Homer's voice took on real authority, "You'll do better than that, Heyes. You'll do nothing."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Between their barrage of exams that week, Neal George and his friend found the time to enjoy the lovely late spring weather. They went to the park afternoon with a baseball. As they walked towards the park they met Huxtable, with some books under his arm as he came from the library. "Hey, Huxtable, want to go toss around a baseball with us?" called George.

"No, man, I got to study," answered Huxtable as he ducked away, not even looking at Heyes.

"Ah, come on," said Heyes. "We'll get hot dogs and pretzels in the park. You got to eat."

Huxtable continued walking on his way with his books without replying or even looking at Smith.

"What's the deal with him?" asked George.

"I don't know . . . ," Smith started to say, then thought better of it, "No, I do know. And I . . . well, I understand. I don't like it, but I understand how he feels. Let's just go watch the game and forget it."

"No, Smith. Something happened . . ." George started to say, slowly.

"And it's none of your business," Smith snapped.

The two walked along in silence for several minutes.

Finally Smith said, "I'm sorry, NG, but it's a deal – between Huxtable and me. We can't talk about it."

"It seems like you can't talk about anything!" NG said in frustration.

"Yeah, that's pretty much how it's worked out," Smith spat out. George stared at him and it was easy to see that he was wondering about what had happened with Huxtable. He might, in time, worm the truth out of his young friend.

The whole thing was turning much too complicated, Anything he said, or didn't say, seemed as likely to get Heyes into about equal trouble. The trouble with Huxtable was spreading. Heyes had known it would. He just couldn't figure out how to stop it. There didn't seem to be a Hannibal Heyes plan to deal with this.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooo

But Beth thought she had a plan. They discussed it in her office. "You have to talk to him, Heyes. Answer a few questions. Keep it just to yes or no if you can. But right now he's terrified and I don't blame him. You gave him just enough for him to know that you're dangerous and you're not who he thought you were. Sounds like you were pretty fierce and authoritative about the no questions thing. If you'd been casual, he might have let it go more easily. But now it's part of a pattern. Remember that card game down by the docks that you told me about where you drew your gun! You don't think that's in his mind right now?"

Heyes felt awful to realize the long shadow cast by that one moment, "Yeah, I guess it is. But don't you think answering questions would make it worse?"

"Maybe. I know out West you could just ride away from trouble. Here, you have to stay put or you can't finish your degrees. You have to stay and cope. It makes it harder. I might be wrong, but I think answering a few questions might make you more – more human again for him. Might help him to see your side of it. Right now, he's guessing pretty wildly, I'll bet. He'll be fantasizing about the worst."

Heyes sat and thought for a long time. "I'll try it. But first, I'll ask Charlie what he thinks. This is important and I want more than one opinion, if you don't mind."

Beth looked compassionately at her man. "I don't blame you. Just remember, when it's over – I'll still be here!"

Heyes knocked on his advisor's apartment door that night and was quickly invited in.

Heyes asked, "What do you think, Charlie? He's been getting more and more – well, scared of me. It's been just over a week. The other guys are picking up on it - wondering about me. Do you think Beth could be right?"

Homer stared into the distance and thought for a moment. "I think it's dangerous as heck, Heyes. But so is doing nothing."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooo

The next afternoon, Heyes went to the mathematics lounge. Just as he thought he might, he found Huxtable dutifully reading, with his feet up on a grubby ottoman among the cookie crumbs and wadded up notebook pages.

"Hey, Missouri!" said Joshua Smith softly, poking the boy's foot.

Huxtable looked up. As the young prodigy saw his much older friend, a hostile look came into his blue eyes. He looked back down at his book without saying a word.

Heyes looked furtively around and saw no one else in or near the lounge. He still kept his voice very low. "You don't have to shut up entirely! Just don't ask those hard questions."

Still looking at his book, Huxtable muttered, "If I can't ask questions, I don't see how we can talk at all. Just leave me alone!"

That stung! Heyes recognized his own words coming back at him and realized how much it must have hurt young Huxtable to have it said to him the previous spring. Heyes spoke in a very low voice, both in volume and tone, "I'm sorry, Paul. It isn't that I don't trust you – it's just so dangerous to let any of that . . . information . . . loose here on campus with so many people. One wrong word – one wrong look – and it would be all over. And not just for me. It's the place, the situation, I don't trust – not you personally."

Still with his eyes on his book, Huxtable growled. "Hmn. If it's so dangerous, why bother trying to make nice to me, Smith? If that's your name! Or do you want me to help you again?"

Heyes paused before he answered, unsure what might make it worse or better. "If that's how you feel, I'll study with someone else. I knew I should have just sat down there in that cellar with you all night. It would have been better. But if you really want to know more, maybe we can talk – in private. You can ask a few questions. I can't guarantee I'll be able to answer them – but you can ask."

Huxtable looked up from his book, "Could we, Kansas? I'd go for that. I just – I feel like I can't trust you any longer. I don't know who you are or what you might do. If you could just . . . help me understand how it is, then maybe I could trust you again."

Heyes looked his young friend very squarely in the eye. The reformed outlaw thought he and Beth were right - mystery might be as dangerous as information. If he left Huxtable feeling the way he was now, that suspicion left hanging could be just as fatal as letting out facts. Huxtable's suspicions were already causing problems with their other friends.

They went up to Huxtable's dorm room, which this year was finally a single – the privilege of an upper classman. So they could have privacy as they talked. Huxtable sat on his bed while his much older friend perched on the one small, ladder back chair.

"Alright, what do you want to know?" asked Heyes in resignation.

Huxtable thought a moment, choosing his first question carefully. "Are you really from Kansas?"

"Yes." Heyes kept his voice as impassive as he could. Tones could tell as much as words, as he knew very well from countless poker games.

"Are you - wanted by the law?" Huxtable's voice trembled just slightly.

"Yes."

Huxtable's lips parted in surprise and the fear in his eyes was even clearer. "Really seriously wanted? With a reward?"

"Yes." Heyes was so tempted to explain more, but he just couldn't dare. Anything he said could lead to more trouble.

The young Missourian looked down and away from his friend, trying to deal with what he was hearing in those impassive single syllable answers that his former friend was giving without seeming to feel guilt or fear or anything at all. "Are you really guilty? Of the charges you're wanted on?"

"Yes."

Huxtable's young squeaked as he asked, "Theft?"

"Yes."

There was a paused as the young man thought about that. "But you don't steal now?"

"No. Not for more than five years. I'm going for amnesty. Think I'll get it, too." Heyes felt he had to flesh out that answer, but without giving away the fact of the Kid's existence.

"Did you ever kill anyone?" The young voice shook again.

Heyes looked away, unable to bear to see Huxtable's vulnerable face as he barked out, "Yes."

Huxtable pulled away from his friend in open fear, "You're a murderer?!"

"No!" Heyes cried. He couldn't keep his voice even. "It was self-defense!" Then, his voice became much more quiet, "I'll have to stand trial – probably soon."

Huxtable's blue eyes were very big. "You mean you killed a man since I've known you?"

"Yes." Heyes couldn't keep the sorrow out of his voice. "Never before that. I sure hoped I could keep it that way. But I couldn't – and live. His gun was pointed at me. He pulled the trigger. The bullet would have killed me if I hadn't been moving so fast. I was turning around to . . ."

"Shoot him?"

"Yes."

Already sure he knew the answer, Huxtable asked, "Is your name really Joshua Smith."

"No." Heyes looked Huxtable in the eye. He paused before continuing. "And I have to ask you to stop there. As I said before, there are lives at stake. But I'll ask you one. Are you going to tell any of our friends about this little conversation?"

"No. I don't think I need to. I think they know – or guess – what you told me. Except the shooting – and sounds like a court will sort that out." Huxtable looked hard at his friend. "But, can I ask just one more? Please? Does Professor Homer know who you really are?"

"Yes, he does."

Huxtable looked relieved. "Then he must trust you."

"I guess so." Heyes looked down, ashamed at how much trust he asked of his friends.

Huxtable tried to meet his friend's eyes, but Heyes wouldn't look up at him. "And does Beth know?"

"Of course." Heyes looked up. The mere mention of her name made him smile just a little.

"Then she also trusts you. So I guess I can, too, Kansas. At least I know I can call you that and it's true. But Joshua Smith . . ."

"Is a lie. But it's the best I can do – for now."

And there it had to stand.


	29. Chapter 29

Late in the afternoon on the last day of spring semester exams, there was a soft knock on the door of Charlie Homer's office. "Come in!" called the professor.

Paul Huxtable put his head in the door. "I know it's late, Professor, but I just finished my last exam. Hope I did alright. But I'd like to talk to you about . . ."

"Sure, Paul. Why do I think I know what you want to talk about? Or rather, who."

"You know . . . what happened?" Huxtable was startled.

"Sure. Smith came and talked to me." Homer motioned for Huxtable to sit down in the chair opposite his desk, under the print of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.

"After he made me promise not to tell anyone!" the young man was a bit miffed.

"He's knows I'm safe – just like you do. But cut him a break - he was scared, Paul! He is scared."

"Him? He's never scared of anything!" scoffed Huxtable.

Homer shook his head, "You're wrong about Smith. He doesn't want you to be afraid of him – but he is afraid of you. Of what you know – and what you might guess."

Huxtable looked anxious. "Well, he scares me still. He answered some questions, but those were pretty bad answers. I asked every bad question I could think of and he answered 'yes' to almost every one!"

"He's human, Paul. His past is bad. He knows that. You know he's changed a whole lot, after that posse put a bullet in his head."

"Gosh! Is that what happened?" Huxtable's blue eyes were very wide.

"I thought you knew that."

"I knew he got a bullet in the head – I didn't know it was a posse!"

"It was. He was riding for his life." Homer carefully disguised, as Heyes always had for the Columbia crowd, even the existence of Heyes' partner. "The posse was out for the reward. But let me tell you this. I'm taking an awful chance with him. I'm staking my career on our friend 'Smith.' If he stays on the right side of the law and keeps doing so well in school, I look like a genius. But if he goes bad - the university president let him in on my word. It would be all over for both of us."

"Over? Maybe for Smith – he'd go to jail. If they could keep him in any jail! But no one is going to fire you, Professor!" Huxtable's trust in his advisor knew no bounds.

"Wrong, again, Huxtable. I'd go to jail, too – for aiding and abetting a fugitive from the law. So I guess you could say I trust your friend Smith," Professor Homer said with careful calm.

"Wow! I guess so! Does he know that – what a chance you're taking on him?"

"He's a pretty smart guy, Huxtable. I haven't laid it on the line for him like I just did for you, but I think he can figure it out. It puts a lot of pressure on both of us."

"He wouldn't be mad at you for telling me this?" Huxtable was anxious again.

"He trusts me, too. And we both trust you. Smith isn't my only top student, Mr. Huxtable. I think you know who the other genius is in this department." Professor Homer gave his star student a friendly wink.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooo

As April came to an end, a telegram arrived in Louisville for Thaddeus Jones. It was delivered to him as he was prowling the saloon one late afternoon, watching a couple of shady types who had joined some locals for a poker game. So the Kid snuck a peek at the slip of paper and, seeing the closing from Joshua Smith, he kept it in his pocket unread until the wee hours past closing time.

As Curry and Cat Christy prepared for their usual late bed time, the Kid read the telegram aloud to Cat.

"Can I please bring a phys . . . physics student with me query please procure for me 2 crates dynamite 14 ounces nitro 1 carpenter 1 photographer 2 mules and 1 quiet valley where can explode things safely stop will reimburse with interest stop thank you stop

Joshua Smith, Columbia University"

"Have you lost your mind!?" yelled the Kid, just as if Heyes was in the room with him.

"Quiet, sweetie! Don't want to wake the customers. Sounds like a Hannibal Heyes plan to me!" laughed Cat as she combed out her long blonde hair.

"He really has lost his mind, Cat! Nitro? A quiet valley? A photographer? Sounds like a nice summer disaster to me!" The Kid was pacing up and down in as much agitation as Heyes ever had. But then he stopped and laughed at himself as much as at his parnter. "He really is nuts, Cat. Just like he always was. Never occurs to him to wonder if his plans might go wrong - for both of us."

"Simmer down, honey!" soothed Cat, "I'm sure he can explain. You know for sure he's not stealing anything."

"Do I? Sounds just exactly like one of his lists from the Devil's Hole days! Except the photographer – that one's really weird! But I know, I know. He's not planning to break the law. But if I buy that stuff, the Sheriff's gonna hear about it and he's gonna wonder. I wonder!"

"And a physics student? Must be for school. I'm sure it'll be perfectly innocent when we find out what it's really for, Jed. But I got to admit, I'm pretty curious," said Cat.

"Me too!"

"Would he send you a telegraph across country to notify you that he was turning bad? Come on, Jed!" Cat ran her hand down her lover's back. He turned and kissed her, forgetting his wayward partner for the moment.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next morning Thaddeus Jones went to the telegraph message and sent the following message to his friend in New York:

"To Joshua Smith, Columbia University

Are you nuts query physics student yes stop no to rest until you explain stop No HHP here stop

Thaddeus Jones, Louisville, Colorado"

"Joshua Smith," on receiving this message laughed for some time. He hadn't seen the abbreviation HHP in years, but immediately and with delight recognized his partner's reference to that infamous phenomenon, the Hannibal Heyes plan. He replied:

"To Thaddeus Jones, Christy's Hotel, Louisville, Colorado

Not nuts stop physics experiment to test equations stop may be MA thesis for me and physics man stop alright query new kind of HHP And thanks stop

Joshua Smith, Columbia University"

He ran the New York reply past Cat and returned to the telegraph office to send their reply back to Heyes.

"To Joshua Smith, Columbia University

If you must stop we will get what we can including room for physics student stop come on stop are 2 nuts stop

Thaddeus Jones and Cat Christy, Louisville, Colorado"

The Kid chuckled wickedly as he shared the news with Cat in the Christy's back room. "Oh, does Heyes owe us for this!"

"Yeah, but he knows it, Jed. Rest assured, he knows it."

"I ain't assured and I won't rest!" the Kid stated with emphasis. "He's taking us for granted, Cat. Let's see what we can do about that. What Kid Curry – Cat Christy plan can we come up with?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

A week and half after his unfortunate escape, and just after completing this exchange of telegrams with Colorado, Heyes carried a flat envelope with him into Beth's office at the clinic at closing time. This was his report card for the spring semester. He looked Beth in the eye and took a deep breath.

"Well?" she asked "are you going to open it or do you want me to?"

"I'm perfectly capable of opening a letter, thank you! If you'll just hand me that letter opener," said Heyes, sounding a bit testy. "I sure hope this doesn't damage my grade average too much!"

"Stop dithering and open it!" urged Beth as she handed him the miniature sword she kept on her desk.

Heyes slit the envelope with a single graceful motion. There was a tense moment as he read down the list. A smile broke out on his face, more than triumph. "All As, but a low one in . . . aesthetics. A pretty fair grade for the work, really. Reynolds didn't short me – not really."

Beth smiled, "After all that work, I hope we can get to some art exhibitions over the summer, after you get back from Louisville."

"Yeah, and you'll have to listen to . . . Plato with every painting!" Heyes winked at Beth, who frowned mockingly at the thought.

Beth kept her voice light, "So, you won't be leading the class rankings this semester. It's not the end of the world, honey. Sometimes I think you obsess over your scores and your academic standing too much."

"Well, I am a math guy. I love scores," Heyes' eyes sparkled at his fiancé.

"You love them when they're high!" Beth chuckled.

"Yeah." He grinned at her. How well she knew him! "But mostly, you know I've got to bo . . . build up my record any way I can to offset the other thing the schools I apply to will be hearing." This subject tended to bring out his aphasia.

"That awful name." Beth hated to think of what would happen when it got out.

"You got it." Heyes grimaced in anticipation.

Beth stroked his hand, "If only you could just keep being Joshua Smith! Maybe they'll let you keep that name. I do like it. I know Lom Trevors gave you the Smith part – where did Joshua come from?"

Heyes' eyes looked distant for a moment and his voice went flat. "My father."

Beth knew better than to ask any further in that direction, much as she would like to have. She brought the subject from the difficult past to the more enjoyable present, "Well, now you get a couple of weeks in Colorado. I hope you and Jed can get some time to just enjoy riding around the mountains. Just relax!"

Heyes smiled ironically, "Relax! Don't know if I know how anymore. I'll be doing . . . experiments, actually – for that stuff on explosion stresses for my MA thesis. Want to see if it really works. Don't know what I'll do it if doesn't. Jed and I just had a kind of proddy telegram exchange over it. He's not real happy with me . . . my asking him to get nitro and exploding things! But it'll be fun. The Kid likes blowing things up just like I do! But, Beth, I wish you could come. I mean, not for blowing things up, but I'll be lonesome without you." He reached for her hand.

Beth took his hand and rubbed her soft cheek on it. "It's just two weeks – between train rides. I'll be here when you get back. And I'll go to Louisville with you at Christmas."

"I'm kind of looking forward to the intensive French class when I get back here this summer. I've got such a lovely tutor!" Heyes smiled at Beth, who had taken on the assignment as a contract job.

She smiled back suggestively, "I'll enjoy it, too, Heyes! Mon cher amor!"

"Oh stop it! I don't know what you said yet."Heyes crossed his arms and playfully pouted at his sweetheart and tutor. But there was some reality to his hurt - he hated to be out of the know on anything.

"Then come here and let me demonstrate, darling. Mon - my (masculine singular) . . . cher – dear (very dear) . . . amor – love (hmn)," Beth murmured with a tender kiss between each translation and its low-voiced commentary.

"Hmn," moaned Heyes, putting his arms around her, "I might enjoy these lessons even more than I thought . . ."


	30. Chapter 30

The Kid paced up and down the dusty little Louisville railroad station platform on a warm, sunny late spring day. He was waiting for Heyes and his physics student friend. This meant that one more person was getting close enough to the pair to give them cause to worry about his penetrating their aliases. The pressure on both partners just kept increasing and at this moment, the Kid sure felt it.

The train whistle came softly from the distance. The Kid looked east to see the distant column of smoke getting nearer. He wondered when Heyes' life would stop being divided in half – East and West – school and home. When would both of their lives stop being divided between the public and the secret, the lie and the truth? When would it all come together?

As the train finally pulled into the station, a pair of amazingly similar figures jumped off, each with saddle bags over his shoulder. Both were five-foot-eleven dark-haired, brown-eyed men wearing pin striped suits and gold wire-rimmed glasses. But one was Heyes, who had turned thirty-six years old the previous February and was continuing to add a few grey hairs at his temples, while his companion was a round-cheeked youngster who looked barely twenty. Both were smiling at the Kid, but Heyes looked confident and happy, while his young friend's smile was decidedly timid.

"Welcome, you two!" called the Kid.

Heyes unobtrusively swept his eyes around the station, and gestured the Kid and his fellow student to come away from a couple who had just gotten off the train. Heyes spoke in a low voice with a particular sparkle in his eyes, "Partner, this is Matthias Peale." The Kid reached out and took the hand of young Peale, who had a surprisingly firm handshake for someone who looked so intimidated. "You remember our friend Henry Peale?"

"Yeah, I remember – he came and visited us about ten years ago, wasn't it?" said the Kid very cautiously and quietly, "after he . . ."

Heyes continued in a low voice, "Yeah – after he went straight. He came back to the Hole bout ten years ago. Brought his son Matt. Remember – eleven-year-old, smart as a whip and into everything?" The Kid nodded. "Well, this is him – all growed up!"

The Kid stared back and forth between Heyes and young Peale. "You mean . . ."

Young Matt Peale spoke for the first time in a quiet baritone, as careful as the two partners that no one could overhear him, "Yes, Mr. Curry. Quite a coincidence Mr. Heyes and I would both wind up at the same school, isn't it?" The young man gave the Kid a shy smile.

"We'd better get to Christy's before we really talk, not take chances," said Heyes with a grin, "But we have a man here we can trust, Kid! Part of the family, you might say." The Kid began to relax, just a little, as the three walked eagerly down the dusty unpaved street and went in the back way at Christy's.

"Cat!" cried the Kid into the kitchen, where Cat was fixing lunch, "come out and meet the physicist from Columbia!" Cat, hearing something special in her man's voice, came out into the big back room.

"Cat," said Heyes, "this is Matt Peale, son of Henry Peale, the best dynamite man the Devil's Hole Gang ever had! Peale, this is Cat Christy, who's gonna marry Kid Curry one of these days!" For the last few months, there had been a slender silver ring on Cat's hand to prove this fact.

"Pleased to meet you, miss!" said Peale politely, "and Mr. Heyes is exaggerating about my Pa. Nobody could beat Mr. Heyes at dynamite, from what I hear. I'm glad I'll get a chance to see him in action when we get to work."

"Welcome to Christy's Place, Mr. Peale!" said Cat warmly, "Sounds like you already know all about tehse two characters."

The Kid grinned gladly at Peale, "Cat," he explained, "when Heyes and I went straight, we had two real decent guys in mind who done the same – Lom Trevors and Henry Peale! Peale went straight years before Heyes and I ever joined up at the Hole, but he came back to visit once and brought his son with him. So it's been about ten years since Heyes and me saw this boy. He sure has grown up and gone far! How's your Pa and Ma these days, Peale?"

"They're both very well, sir," answered Peale. "They live in Montana. Pa worked as a mining engineer after he went straight and married my Ma. He's retired now."

"They ought to be right proud of you, Matthias," said Heyes. "You do such great work! And for about the fiftieth time, Peale," said Heyes, "would you please stop calling me Mister? When we're in safe company, just plain Heyes is just plain fine! If you're going to be my partner on the MA project, you've got to relax and treat me as an equal!"

This made Matthias's mouth drop open. "I don't know if I can do that M . . . Heyes. You've been my hero ever since I was a boy!"

Heyes laughed and told his partner, "Turns out Matthias here spotted me at Columbia about a year and a half ago when we had a math class together. It took the boy nearly a year to get up the courage to let me know that he knew who I was! When he came up to me last fall and called me Mr. Heyes I almost fell into my soup! It's just in the last few weeks we've been working up ideas together. He's as trustworthy as any man you'll ever meet, Kid."

The Kid smiled at Peale, "When we're in safe company, you sure can call me Jed or Kid, Matthias. So you prefer Matthias to Matt these days?"

"Yes, M . . . Kid! Thank you!" said Peale with a grin. "You're my hero, too! It sure made Pa glad when he heard you guys had gone straight. He and Ma will be so happy when they find out you're maybe getting close to amnesty!"

"We'll have to see about that, Matthias," said the Kid. "We haven't been able to get the new governor to follow through on anything yet. We hope Heyes' studies will cut some ice with him, but we ain't counting any chickens at all 'cause we got no guarantee they'll ever hatch."

As they finished a lunch of soup and fresh-baked bread, Heyes stifled a yawn and said, "Kid, can you please show this young man around town for a while? I got things to do in my room before we get to any work."

Peale turned to Curry hopefully. The Kid said, "Sure, Heyes. You think I ought to introduce him to Sheriff Wilde so he'll know what you guys will be doing with all that dynamite and nitro?"

"Yeah, I do think! But like I say, I got things to catch up on here," Heyes picked up his saddle bags and went up to his room while the Kid and young Peale headed out.

When the Kid and Peale got back from their tour around Louisville, Cat said, "Don't go up to Heyes' room and bother him, boys. Let him come down when he's ready."

"Why, is he that busy?" asked the Kid.

Cat chuckled, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Last I saw, Heyes was asleep."

"Aw, he didn't get to catch up on what he said he needed to do!" said the Kid.

"Yeah, he did," said Cat with a wink at Peale, "What he needed to catch up on was his sleep! You know how hard he works all the time. He'll need plenty of rest if he's to keep up with this young guy!"

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later that afternoon, Heyes and Peale went through the explosives the Kid had gotten for them. They also sorted out the odd collection of equipment and supplies that Heyes and Peale had brought with them, including a quantity of white chalk. They looked at a map with the Kid and discussed the quiet valley he had found where they could blow things up. It was on some land belonging to a local mine owner. The owner was planning to build a house on it one day, but hadn't gotten to it yet. There were some big rocks and stumps the owner wanted blown out before he built on the land, so it was ideal for Heyes' and Peale's purposes.

That evening they were expecting the photographer and carpenter that Curry had found for them. They might be able to relax around Peale, but, as Heyes told him, "There's not a photographer on the face of the earth that the Kid and I can be easy around! If we didn't need him to document blast patterns, I wouldn't have him within ten miles!"

At nearly dinner time a tall, skinny blonde man with a thin beard and a black bag walked into the saloon and looked around curiously. "There a Joshua Smith here?" he called out.

"I'm Smith!" said Heyes, standing up. "You Eakins the photographer?"

"Yeah! Best technical photographer in the state if I do say so myself!" Eakins and Smith shook hands heartily. Then Heyes introduced Peale and the Kid to the new man.

"This does sound like a kind of an interesting job, Mr. Smith," said Eakins. "But I surely do hope that you know what you're doing with those explosives."

The Kid and Peale got big grins on their faces at that. "Does he know how to handle explosives?" asked Peale, with bubbling enthusiasm, "He's only . . ." The Kid and Heyes fixed the boy with serious looks, and he immediately reined in his eagerness, "a serious expert with explosives. A very fine expert."

Not much later, the burly carpenter, Zimmerman, showed up and joined the discussion. Heyes wanted him to come along on their first day of blasting to build a shelter where they could hide during blasts. "Good thing you asked for a carpenter, Joshua - you can't drive a nail to save your life!"

"You ain't any better, Thaddeus!" retorted his partner. "It's a wonder you got a thumb left!"

As the discussion broke up, Eakins went up to his room. They would need to be up early. As Eakins climbed the stairs, the Kid walked with him, talking under his breath. Peale, who had just gotten to his own room and could hear their voices but not what they were saying, wondered what it was they had to say to each other.

Early the next morning, Heyes, Peale, Eakins, Zimmerman, and the Kid rode out into the mountains. There was not strictly any reason for Curry to go with the party. Heyes could have found the valley from a map without the Kid to guide him. But Curry enjoyed blowing things up almost as much as his partner did and so was glad to go along. The Kid led the way and helped to manage the two mules loaded with explosives and blasting equipment. The photographer had his own mule with a large format camera and a supply of the new-fangled film negatives that were lighter and easier to deal with than the old glass plates. The carpenter brought his own mule to haul wood and nails and tools out to the blasting site. There was a special glee about the party as they rode on that bright, clear morning. They were all – or all except the photographer - looking forward to some fine explosions.

Heyes was glad to learn that the "quiet" valley was only a couple of hours from Louisville so they would be able to sleep back in the hotel every night. When they got to the little valley with its big rocks and trees, Heyes and Peale worked methodically figuring out where to rig their charges, and how to set up all of their gear. The carpenter constructed a heavy wood barrier with sides and a roof where they could all crouch during blasts. The photographer set up his equipment behind a boulder even farther away than the shelter, where he hoped it wouldn't be damaged by flying debris. Meanwhile, the Kid led the horses and mules away to hobble them where they wouldn't be too spooked by the noise to come.

As they got down to the actual rigging of charges and fuses, with the photographer and carpenter working some distance away, the Kid could see Peale's eyes sparkling. "Wow, I get to watch Hannibal Heyes himself rig charges!" whispered Peale to the Kid in high excitement. "It's a dream come true!"

"He ain't too bad," admitted the Kid, critically, watching his partner work as he had so many times before. "I just hope he ain't forgot too much. It's been a while, you know. You goin' to help him some, Peale?"

Young Peale went eagerly to stand at Heyes' shoulder and help with setting charges. The youngster glowed with delight at the opportunity to work so closely with his hero. The five men sheltered behind the barrier the carpenter had built. Heyes gave the traditional warning yell "Fire in the hole!" and then calmly counted down in a loud, steady voice, "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . ." then he pushed the plunger.

The explosion went off with a deliciously loud bang and a colossal cloud of dust. Peale, Heyes, the carpenter, and the Kid leapt up with exclamations of delight, while the photographer cringed. The brays of the mules and squeals of the horses sounded in the distance and every bird within a couple of miles flew into the air. The white chalk that had been added to make the explosion easier to chart had flown everywhere. The shelter seemed to be satisfactory, so the carpenter rode off with his mule. The Kid ran to look after the livestock, while the photographer, convinced by Peale and Heyes that all was safe, hauled his camera into position. Then the photographer was busy with his exposures while Heyes and Peale got out measuring tapes and surveying equipment. They made charts and graphs and did equations. The Kid sat on a stump and watched with some interest at first. But the recording process got tedious for him and he fell to meditatively whittling a stick.

When everything was properly measured and recorded, the process started over. Heyes and Peale in close and delighted consultation positioned another charge. Peale set off this one. Again, the horses and mules gave cry. The Kid sighed and went to check on them, while again Heyes and Peale called in the photographer and set to work recording the result with pictures and numbers. Then they went through the whole thing again with a third charge. The Kid continued placidly whittling his stick as he sat on a downed tree waiting for his compatriots to get their repetitious work finished.

As Heyes, Peale, and four men crouched behind the barrier to set off the next charge, Heyes yelled "Fire in the hole!" and began counting down, "Ten, nine, eight . . . whoa!" Halfway through the countdown the dark ex-outlaw suddenly leapt up from his sheltered spot and Peale pulled back as a snake curled right by where Heyes had been crouched. Heyes yelled in a panic, "K . . . Thaddeus, get it! Get it! Is it a rattler?" It took at least thirty seconds for the Kid to stop laughing and finally shoot the snake dead. By then Eakins had taken off into the woods at top speed. Clearly, rattlers were not his cup of tea, either.

Heyes was incensed. "It ain't funny, Jones! That thing could have bit me! You took your sweet time shooting it!"

Curry laughed again, "I wouldn't have let it get you, mighty dynamite man. And you'll notice that you never heard a rattle – it's just a harmless little pine snake."

Heyes pointed at his partner, "You got too much fun out of it! Did you put it there yourself?"

"'Course not! Come to think of it – Peale, was it you set that thing on Heyes?" Suddenly realizing what he had said, the Kid clapped his hands to his mouth. Had the photographer, cowering in the woods, heard him?

Apparently not, since he showed no sign of nervousness as he returned to their shelter for Heyes to yell "Fire in the hole!" again and count down again to actually set off the charge.

They set off several other charges. "Why do you have to do some many bangs?" asked the Kid. "It seems like they're all alike to me."

"They've got different angles and different charges," explained Peale. "And we got to duplicate our results a bunch of times to make sure they're right. It'll take a few days to get all the blast data we need."

"Well, count me out," said the Kid. "If you don't need me, starting tomorrow, I stay home. I got better things to do with my time."

"Sure, Thaddeus. Can't blame you," said Heyes. "Must get kinda dull between blasts."

When the sun began to get a bit low in the sky, they packed up their gear on the mules, saddled up the horses, and rode for Louisville. All were tired as they rode through the trees and over the rocks in the gathering dark. "I think we're off to a good start – plenty of data," said Matthias.

"I'm just glad to have your fine place to come back to at night, Thaddeus!" said Heyes with a yawn as they saw the lights of town in the distance. "We surely have ended long days in the saddle in less comfortable circumstances."

"We sure have!" agreed the Kid.

"Where've you boys been riding together before?" asked Eakins.

Heyes and the Kid exchanged brief uneasy glances. They didn't dare to have the photographer get too interested. "Oh, here and there some years back – before Smith went to New York," said Curry, carefully casual.

The following days fell into a routine. Peale and Heyes set off explosions beside large rocks, under large rocks, between large rocks, under large stumps, between large stumps, etc., etc. On the afternoon of the fourth day, which was Saturday, Heyes was standing in rapt attention studying a blast pattern when he suddenly felt that something was wrong. He looked up to see Eakins the photographer putting his lens cap back on, with the camera facing not the blast pattern, but Heyes himself.

In the mountains it wasn't a hot day, but Hannibal Heyes started to sweat. Eakins had just taken a photograph of him! One of the main reasons that Heyes and the Kid had been able to stay free all these years was that, so far as anyone but Clementine Hale knew, there were no existing photographs of them. Now there was a photographic negative of Heyes! But the former outlaw couldn't afford to panic. At the end of the project, after all, Heyes would get all the negatives Eakins shot – that was the deal.

But Heyes couldn't help yelling in annoyance, "Hey, Eakins! We ain't paying you to shoot portraits – just the blasts!"

Eakins shrugged. "I won't charge you for it, Smith. I just got bored with blast documenting, and you were posed so great there against that big rock!"

Heyes sounded plenty irritated, but hoped no panic showed, "Well don't do it again!"

On Saturday evening, Heyes, Peale, and Eakins rode into Louisville at the end of a tiring day. Heyes yawned as they unsaddled their horses in the Christy's Place stable, "To tell the truth, Peale, I don't know that I'm getting a blast out of blasting any longer. Four days of it is enough for me. I've got plenty of data for equations – what about you?"

"I think I'm set, too, Joshua," said Peale. "If you can just take my set of prints to New York when you go, I can take the train to see my parents before I go East. Wish you could come along – I know they'd love to see you."

"Can't go with you, Matthias, but I'll take your prints to New York," Heyes smiled. He was enjoying being hero-worshipped by his young friend.

Heyes went to Eakins on Monday, when he was getting a drink in the saloon between printing sessions. Heyes asked, "Eakins, you know that shot you took of me? I was thinking my girl in New York might like it, if it came out. I'll pay you for it – a print and the negative."

"Sure, a print. Not the negative." Eakins shook his head firmly.

"Why not? What do you want with a negative of me? I ain't nobody," said Heyes in annoyance.

"It's just a principle of mine," said Eakins calmly, "I keep hold of my negatives. Don't want other guys printing my negatives and getting money should be coming to me. I'll sell you a print, though."

Heyes didn't dare press the point and make his concern obvious. He had his own ways of solving the problem. When Eakins was downstairs printing, Heyes cautiously picked the lock to his room and searched for the negative. The former robber dug through piles of the new-fangled film negatives, being almost excessively careful to keep the stacks as they had been – he knew how obvious it always was to him when his room had been searched. And he looked with the greatest of care through Eakins' notebooks and every place else he thought a negative could conceivably be. But the negative of Heyes' portrait wasn't anywhere in the room that he could find. It must be among the ones Eakins had downstairs to print.

So when Eakins went for a walk at lunch time, Heyes checked the negatives in the makeshift darkroom in the smaller of the hotel's two back rooms. The portrait negative wasn't there.

But the next day, Eakins brought to Joshua Smith a print of himself - a very clear full-length three quarter angled portrait. It made the subject's blood run cold to see it. Heyes paid the man for the print, trying his best not to look like he was panicking - although he was.

What had happened to the negative for the portrait?

The night, Heyes and the Kid visited in the back room. Heyes told his friend, "It sure is good of you to put us up and be so helpful, Kid. I don't like asking so much of you and Cat – what with giving Eakins dark room space in your place while he makes his prints and all. You just let me know what I owe you, and I'll pay with interest like I said."

"You don't have to pay for the rooms, Heyes! What kind of partner, much less cousin, would I be if I charged you?"

"BS, Kid. I said I'd pay and I will. It's all school expenses. I'll pay my benefactors off when I get a faculty post." Heyes stopped and sighed.

"What is it, Heyes?" asked Kid in concern, seeing how worried his partner looked.

"When I get a faculty post! I sound so confident. Got no reason to be. I should say if I get a faculty post. I just worry more and more about how any school will ever trust me. Peale keeps his Pa's past a deep secret for all the Columbia folks, you know. And he's been straight for twenty years and more! And Henry Peale, pardon my arrogance, is not Hannibal Heyes. I mean, nobody outside our old business, and a few old lawmen, knows his name. Will anyone ever trust me to teach?"

The Kid tried to calm his partner, "Aw Heyes, you've always known it'll be hard. You got plenty of ways to make a good living if teaching doesn't work out right away. Don't worry so much!"

Heyes sighed again, "Well, if I don't worry about that, I worry about just getting graduated at all without getting thrown in the territorial penn. With all these people who know about us - the pressure is about to drive me out of my skull. And by the way, a joke's a joke and all that, but give me the negative."

"The what?" the Kid asked, startled.

Heyes' eyes flared with anger, "The negative, Kid! That portrait shot you paid Eakins to take of me. You've had your fun – hand it over!"

"I did no such thing!" the Kid exclaimed, "I admit it, I put the snake under you. It was a treat to see you jump! But I wouldn't ever take a chance on a picture of either one of us!"

"You don't fool me!" fumed Heyes, "Peale said he heard you talking to Eakins that first night he came. Hand over the negative! I searched his room and the dark room and it ain't there. You got to have it!"

"Not guilty, Heyes! I only talked to Eakins about the dark room. Any portrait of you, he did on his own. You don't think he really heard me say your name, do you?" now the Kid was getting nervous.

"If he did, he's a superb actor," admitted Heyes.

"But why keep the negative if he knows who you and me are? Why not just turn us in to the Sheriff? What good does a photograph do him?" wondered the Kid.

"I got not a clue, partner," answered Heyes. As Heyes took the train back east, he added one more to his list of worries, and so did the Kid.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The day after Heyes got back to New York, a large envelope arrived for him from Louisville. Heyes carried it back from his post office box to his rented room to open it in privacy. Inside was a folded newspaper clipping from a Boulder paper, illustrating the photograph from the mysterious missing negative. The caption read "Eccentric Columbia University graduate student Joshua Smith sets off blasts in Rocky Mountains near Louisville, Colorado, to further scholarship." The photograph was credited to "Howard Eakins, staff photographer."

Heyes lost it when he saw that. He yelled just as if his partner could hear him, "Staff photographer?! Kid, I thought I could trust you to have good sense. You hired a newspaper photographer! You IDIOT!"

Heyes threw the newspaper clipping as hard as he could. As he watched the paper flutter harmlessly to the floor, the ex-outlaw began to laugh.


	31. Chapter 31

As the summer came near to its end and the Homers got back from a trip to Europe, Heyes went to see Charlie Homer in his apartment. He showed him the clipping picturing Heyes in the little local Boulder paper – the first time either of the boys had ever had an image published. "I was awful mad when I saw it, Charlie. But the Kid says in a telegram, in our code of course, that when he hired Eakins he didn't have any idea the guy did newspaper work. I remember Eakins introduced himself to me as the finest technical photographer in the state. He may be right – does good work! I guess no photographer could make a living out there just doing technical photography or just shooting for the Boulder paper. He probably does portraits, too. Whatever you asked him to do with a camera, he'd say yes. And if you didn't ask him about the newspaper stuff, it'd never come up. So I don't blame the Kid for the photographer. But for the snake, yes!"

The two westerners laughed. "Hate snakes myself, Heyes!" said Homer, "I don't imagine anyone will ever see that photograph again. Or I hope not. Such a little western paper – doubt you have much to worry about there. And with you wearing your glasses in the picture, I'll bet most folks who saw you before won't even recognize you in that fuzzy halftone. And for the people who do see it, it just confirms that you're Joshua Smith, not Hannibal Heyes."

Heyes shrugged, "I don't know – it could destroy my life and Beth's or never show up again. Sometimes I don't know anymore who or what I am – or what I can do about my past. Maybe nothing. It's my future I care about now - our future. As long as one day I can get amnesty so I can teach math and get paid for it. So Beth and I can live our lives – that's all I want."

Homer chuckled rather fondly at his prize student, "Come on, Heyes! That's a lot of hard things to ask! But the teaching math for pay – how'd you like to start that right now?"

Heyes' eyes lit up, but he looked skeptical. "I'd love it, Charlie! I'd really go for some teaching experience, but how can I? I'm not even in grad school yet."

"Well, not as a teaching assistant – that has to wait for you to start grad school next year, as you know. But how about as a tutor? Just for an hour or so a week with one undergrad. It'd be good experience for you, and bring in a little cash that I'm sure you can use. What about it?"

Heyes was intrigued, "Tell me about it, Charlie."

Homer watched Heyes carefully to gauge his reaction. "Sure. He's from Montana. He's just fifteen. He finished school early, like your pal Huxtable. And like Huxtable, he's very bright. But he doesn't have Huxtable's advantages – no professor parents here. I think Tom might just need a bit of help to bridge the gap from one-room school houses to undergrad college, especially in math. Just someone extra in his corner, you know – to go over things with him. And he has – some little problems. Nothing you can't handle. Will you take him on?"

"You know how many problems I started out with myself! Sure – I'll do what I can for him. He's a westerner!" Heyes couldn't help but identify with this young student he hadn't even met yet. He didn't know what problems Charlie might be talking about – but it would be a rare problem that would stop Heyes from starting his teaching career by helping a fellow troubled westerner trying to make a go of it in college in New York.

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The next day Heyes and Homer walked over to the dorm hall where Heyes' new student lived. "His name is Tom O'Keeffe," said Homer. "I haven't told him about your – problems – just as I haven't told you about his. He just knows that you're a brilliant mathematics student from the West. I think it's better that way. You get to know each other honestly. And, of course, he will have no idea of who . . ."

Heyes nodded. Of course his real identity was always a secret. That was the given with everyone except his new friend Peale. He longed for the day when going straight meant that he could be truly honest with people from the moment he met them, instead of having such a long process of gauging who he could tell his real name to and who he couldn't.

O'Keeffe's room was on the first floor. Homer knocked, "Tom! You there?"

There was a pause before the door opened and they could hear a slow knocking and dragging on the floor. Heyes therefore was not that surprised to see, when the door opened, that Tom walked with crutches. His legs were very thin and didn't really support him well, especially the twisted left one. He wore heavy metal leg braces. The boy was short and slight. He looked more like he was twelve than fifteen – except for the powerful arms that he used to make up for what his legs couldn't do. He looked up hopefully at his visitors with lively grey eyes from under a thick mop of wavy brown hair, "Good afternoon, Professor! And you must be Mr. Smith. I'm glad to meet you." The young voice sounded more confident than Heyes had expected.

Heyes looked into the boy's eyes and was glad to see how strongly the keen young eyes met his, "Yes, Tom. I'm glad to meet you, too. Please call me Joshua." Tom expertly tucked his right crutch under one arm and balanced on just the one crutch and leg so that he could shake his new tutor's hand.

"I hope you two will get along," said Homer. "I know you both love to read. _Moby Dick_ is a particular favorite of Joshua's, Tom."

"Oh! Did you read it in college, Joshua?" asked Tom.

Heyes answered with just a slight hesitation – wondering if too much honesty would undermine his authority. But he preferred to me as honest as he could. It was clear to him that Homer had chosen him for Tom because of all they had in common. "No – my tutor introduced me to it before I got to Columbia."

Homer smiled, "I've got a meeting, so I'd better get on my way."

"Good-bye, Professor," said Tom, "and thank-you!"

"Wait until you get some work with Smith under your belt before you thank me, Tom. He's not going to take it easy on you!" Homer called lightly as he left.

Tom sat on his bed, while he invited Joshua to sit on his one chair – a heavy, comfortable arm chair that would be suited for Tom's needs.

Tom looked back at Joshua Smith curiously. "You had a tutor? I thought you were such a great student – why would you need a tutor?"

Heyes grinned and looked down, embarrassed that his image and his past didn't match. "Actually, I never finished school out West. Never got even close. But Charlie tells me that you did finish. All the way to eleventh grade?"

Tom nodded, "Yeah. I was lucky. We had a very good teacher on the place – the ranch where my folks worked - when I was in high school. And look at me – you know there wasn't anything I needed to do on the ranch that was going to take me out of school the way it does so many guys out there. So I just read and studied all I could. I know I'll need to support myself with my mind." Heyes was surprised, and impressed, to hear how honest Tom was about his own condition. It gave Heyes the courage to be as honest as he could in his turn.

"Was it farm or ranch work that took you away from school, Joshua?" Tom asked.

Heyes looked Tom squarely in the eyes. "No." It was so tempting to distract the boy and say this was about him and not his tutor, but Heyes knew that wasn't the way to go. The troubles in his past might help this ambitious young man to identify with him and to deal with his own troubles as he started school. "I ran away from the home for . . . waywards when I was fifteen – and they didn't do much teaching there anyhow."

"Waywards?" Tom was taken aback. This wasn't the past he expected from a star college student.

"I – my cousin and I – we were . . . orphaned when we were little – in the Kansas border wars. I didn't get to go on with school until three years ago."

"Three years ago! That's a long time out of school. You aren't regular school age – you must be in your thirties, right?" Heyes nodded. "You must have done something else for a long time. What got you back to school – and from Kansas to New York City?"

"Well, how'd you get here from Montana? That's a long way, too."

Tom laughed. He was utterly unintimidated. "I asked first!"

Heyes couldn't get around the boy. "So you did. I . . . my tutoring was at the Leutze Clinic for Aphasia Patients. Do you know what aphasia is?"

Tom took the question as a challenge. "Let's see – it's from the Greek. A means something negative . . . but what's phasia? What couldn't you do?"

"Talk. Or write." Heyes pushed back the long hair from his left temple.

Tom's eyes opened wide. "Wow! That's some scar. Almost as good as mine. So that's why you kind'a pause sometimes when you're talking?"

"Yeah." Heyes tried to resist wincing. The boy sure was blunt! And observant.

Tom inquired eagerly, "What happened?"

"Bullet in the head. How'd you get your scar?" Heyes tried to get the subject off of himself and onto his new student.

"Just surgery to try to repair my left leg. Didn't work." Tom was just as reluctant to talk too much about his own physical problems.

"I'm sorry," said Heyes.

Tom shrugged. "Just the way it is. How'd you get shot?"

Joshua shrugged in his turn. "Just an accident – stray bullet. I don't remember anything until after I woke up a few days later. It happened out in the mountains. Bullet glanced off a rock and hit me."

Tom was excited by this adventure story. "Who saved you? Out in the mountains? You weren't just left alone – you'd have died."

"That's right. My partner Thaddeus saved my life. He's in Colorado now."

Tom's eyes lit up."Your partner? Like some of those western heroes I've read about?! Like Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes!"

It was one of the great acting jobs of Heyes' life not to blush at that or react in any way. Looking into Tom's perceptive young eyes was at least as revealing as looking into a mirror. The bright grey eyes looked thoughtful. The boy saw something in his new tutor's eyes, obviously, but not enough for it to give Heyes away. Otherwise, this very frank boy would surely have said something.

Heyes smiled. "Yeah, kinda like that. Thaddeus - he's my second cousin."

"You must miss him." The emotion in Tom's voice made Heyes wonder who it was the boy himself was missing – he guessed it was his parents.

"Yeah, I do miss him. But I go out there every Christmas and every summer, so we get to ride around together some."

"Oh. So you're really good at math?" Tom, like a much younger boy, jumped from one subject to the next without any transition.

"Yeah. Always was. But you never said how you got here from Montana."

For the first time, Tom's reaction wasn't instant and blunt. There was a decided hesitation on the boy's part. "My Ma's brother Hiram lives . . . lived in New York. He . . . was an engineer. I was supposed to live with him while I was studying. He got killed a month ago, building a bridge."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Tom. Would you rather talk about school?" Heyes could see what a hard emotional time his new student must be having. Tom fell silent. "We do need to talk about what you need to work on." Heyes tried to urge Tom on to academics.

"You were a cowboy?" But Tom wouldn't take the hint.

"I thought we were going to talk about school!" Heyes worried about being able to keep charge of the wayward Tom.

Tom badgered away at Smith, "Well, I've known plenty of cowboys, and not one of them cared about math. So what made you want to teach math?"

Heyes answered honestly, "Having a couple of great math teachers. And just happening to be good at it. Very good at it."

"Professor Homer's one of those great math teachers?"

Heyes grinned at Tom. "Of course!"

"And you want to be like him?" Tom, again, cut right to the heart of the matter without regard for his tutor's dignity.

"Yeah, I do want to be like Charlie Homer." Once again, Heyes was as utterly honest as his new student was.

"You don't want to be a cowboy again?"

"No. You know that that's a hard life and it doesn't pay enough to support a wife. I want to get married and settle down."

"You picked out the girl?" Tom asked with a smile.

Heyes smiled back, "I sure have. She was my tutor at the clinic. When we first met, I couldn't say a word. Now, as my partner says, I won't shut up!"

"So being a tutor . . ." Tom, for once, was feeling his way.

Heyes understood where he was going, "Tutoring can sure lead to a friendship. But in the mean time, first it means helping you get started on college."

Finally Tom was ready to really talk about school. "I'm good at reading and writing and stuff, but math is harder for me. I guess that's why Professor Homer picked you." Tom looked appraisingly at Smith.

Smith looked keenly back, "Let me guess – you like to skip over the steps for figuring and guess the answers?"

"Yeah, I do." Tom said with his usually honesty and quickness.

Heyes conked his new student's pride on the head with a straight-forward statement. "Won't work with college math. At least not most of the time. It's just too complicated."

Tom, finding this subject dull, jumped back to personal questions. "When you started college, did you still have a real hard time talking?"

Heyes shook his head, "You are the bluntest guy I've ever met, Tom! Yeah, I did."

"And did the other guys tease you?" Tom continued his tactless questioning, but Heyes was determined not to let it faze him.

"Yeah. Called me old man and cowboy and hick and slow. Tried to beat me up. Tried. . ." Heyes couldn't keep a note of pride out of his voice.

Tom was as honest about himself as he was about his new tutor. "Nobody tries to beat me up – there's no challenge to it. Well, they do trip me sometimes. And they tease me."

"Anybody tries either one of those things when I'm around, they'll regret it!" Heyes wanted to make sure that Tom knew that he had a champion on campus already.

Tom laughed. "You don't have to be around – I make 'em regret it all by myself."

"With that sharp tongue of yours?"

"You got it, Joshua!"

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A month later, Heyes and Beth were having dinner with the Homers at their apartment where they had all spent so much time together after Heyes had been shot in the hip. "So how's it going with Tom, Heyes?" asked Charlie.

"He's a handful, that boy! I got to use every kind of trick to get him to take time to do all the steps on his math problems. He's just in such a hurry with everything all the time. Wants to get past it and not bother with doing it right."

"But his math teacher tells me he's doing really well - after his sessions with you!" said Homer.

Beth and Charlie Homer grinned at Heyes and at each other. It sounded mighty familiar to them from working with Heyes not that long ago. "What kind of tricks do you use with Tom, Heyes?" asked Beth.

Heyes shrugged "Oh, I hold out little rewards, you know. And remind him of how rare a chance college is."

"What kind of rewards?" Charlie wanted to know. "His professors would sure love to know what he values enough that it'll make him really work! He's so smart, but he'll only do what he wants to do."

Heyes ducked his head and shrugged. "Oh, you know."

"No, I don't know. Nobody else has found any way to make Tom O'Keeffe do anything he's bored with. The boy is just too smart, but too immature!" Charlie sighed.

Heyes looked down and couldn't meet any of their eyes, in embarrassment. "I . . . um . . . I tell him stories. Stories about my life out west. Can't tell the real exciting ones, of course – the Devil's Hole stories. But there are plenty of things I can tell him without putting anyone's life in danger. With his problems, you know, he's never gotten to just get on a horse and ride off the way the Kid and I used to do all the time. Just ordinary stories about the West. When Tom was out there, he didn't dare ask anybody to tell him. He'll work like the devil just so he can hear a good story. Sometimes, I got to admit, I change a few names and tell him some pretty exciting ones."

Homer laughed. "What do you know? How'd you figure it out, Heyes?"

Heyes snorted, "What do you mean? It's so obvious! From the moment we met, he did nothing but ask me about my past out West! All I had to do was make him wait a bit for some answers."

Homer shook his head, "All I can say is, nobody else has figured it out – and all of his professors have been trying for a month! He'll work on things that interest him, but anything where the interest isn't obvious, he just won't even try."

Heyes couldn't believe that his own insights were so rare. "Come on, it's not just stories. It isn't hard to get Tom interested in the driest things, if you just take the time and bring out the interest you see in it."

Charlie, Beth, and Marie all laughed. "I think somebody else has been learning this semester, don't you Charlie?" said Marie.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah, I'd say my student is learning how to teach."

"But it's so easy! All you have to do is care," said Heyes earnestly.

"There you are!" smiled Charlie Homer, "In just a month, he's found the center of the profession. Anyone who won't hire you to teach, Heyes, is a damned fool."


	32. Chapter 32

On a pretty fall Saturday Heyes and Peale went riding in Central Park. They enjoyed a couple of brisk gallops, and then loitered down the paths under the trees. "I can't tell you how great it is to have somebody at school I can relax with, Peale," said Heyes.

"Relax with? Don't you have a bunch of math major friends?" Peale asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, but only Charlie knows . . ."Heyes let his voice trail off. They could never be sure there wasn't someone behind a tree or rock who could hear them.

Now Peale understood. "Oh! That's got to be tough – Joshua. I don't have much to hide – I mean nothing that I ever did. But I still worry about folks learning . . . too much. For you . . ."

"Yeah, Matthias. Worries me all the time." Now Heyes wasn't feeling so relaxed.

"But that newspaper picture never has caused you any trouble?" asked his young friend.

"Not so far. I keep waiting for the stupid thing to come round and bite me, but it hasn't yet."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Soon after that, Heyes invited Matt Peale to come along with Joshua Smith, Ev Carter, Paul Huxtable, and Neal George on one of their Friday night gatherings. They had all met Peale before, but only briefly. The five leaned on their regular bar, "So you two spent two weeks blowing things up in Colorado?" asked NG.

Heyes grinned while Peale answered enthusiastically, "Yeah, well the first week of it anyway. Was a lot of fun! Smith is the best ever at setting charges."

Ev looked questioningly at Smith, "I thought you were a cowboy? How'd you learn to work with explosives? Sounds like it would start a stampede!"

Heyes tried to carry off a casual smile and not reveal how much he worried about this line of questions, "Not when I was on a cattle drive, Ev! I set dynamite and nitro charges when I did some gold mining."

Heyes and Peale exchanged a brief little smile about their little secret of how "Joshua Smith" had come to have so much experience with explosives. But then Heyes saw NG looked at them. Heyes wiped the smile off of his face, but he worried that it hadn't vanished rapidly enough. Heyes remembered that NG had been in the same class that he and Peale had taken together, before Peale had had the courage to go up and introduce himself to his old hero properly. Heyes wondered if NG had realized even then that something was going on – before Heyes himself had realized it.

And even now, Paul Huxtable was watching Heyes with care. "So you really did gold mining, Kansas? Underground?"

Heyes laughed lightly at Huxtable, trying to deflect his worried gaze, "Sure, Missouri. That's where the gold is! I mean, when it isn't washed out of the earth into a stream. I've done some panning, too. Hard on the back, both of them. It's a lot more fun to win the gold off the miners at poker after they do the hard work." He winked at his young friend, but Huxtable looked pretty serious as he tried to figure out how the secret and open parts of Smith's former life fit together. Heyes supposed he was wondering if "Joshua Smith" had actually robbed the miners. Huxtable had to be unsure of much truth and how much lie was in anything Smith told him. Heyes only wished he could clear all that up for the youngster.

NG looked skeptically at his western friend, "You sure have gotten around, Smith! Seems like you've done a little of everything – and you're younger than I am!"

"I haven't set type or written for a newspaper, like you have, NG." Heyes admired his slightly older friend and made no secret of it. "I'd say you've gotten around a bit yourself. And you'll go ever farther when you finish up here."

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Later, Peale and Heyes down the street together after the beer drinking broke up. There was no one near them on the dark sidewalk, so they could talk fairly openly, "That boy Huxtable, what does he know? You can't tell me he doesn't know something!" said Peale with some concern.

Heyes grimaced. "More than I'd like. He and I got tied up and dumped in a locked cellar last semester – by some of those thugs that hang around with that ass Clarksdale. I didn't know how college pranks worked – didn't know they'd probably have come back and let us out. So I got untied the way I used to do it when it was serious out West. Then I used my pick locks to let us out. I asked Huxtable just not to ask about it, but it didn't work. I had to tell him some more. Not my name! But enough that it worries him still. Told him I was wanted." Seeing Peale's shocked look, Heyes said, "I know! I know! But I thought it would have been more dangerous not to tell him anything . . . perceptive as he is. Or that's what I keep telling myself."

Peale shook his head. "And I thought it was tough being the son of a former DH man! It's got to be a lot tougher being a real DH guy – and a college student, too. It's like – what do they call it – a double life. And those math guys are too smart!"

Heyes blew out a deep breath. "Yeah, Peale. You got that right! Gets more complex than our physics equations ever will. Jed and I just have to get through it for a while longer. We're hoping for amnesty when I graduate. But no one's promised that - not yet."

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Heyes dropped by Beth's office one evening in early December, as he often did. She let him in with a little kiss. Heyes dropped into the chair across the desk from his former tutor. "Beth, at Christmas, who's coming with you – as 'chaperone?'"

"What about you?" Beth's eyes sparkled at Heyes.

Heyes' head jerked up. "Huh? I thought you were so afraid of being improper! Or of being caught being improper, anyway!"

"I am – but what could be more proper than husband and wife?" She playfully batted her eyelids.

Heyes didn't see what she thought was funny, "Honey, you know we can't get married yet! Not until I finish my degrees and can get a position. And that's still at least a year and half off, even if I can finish all of the Masters in one year plus next semester's grad credits. So what are you playing at?"

"I know, Heyes. But what if we pretend we're married? Why does anyone on the train have to know we aren't really?" Beth looked Heyes in the eye.

He wasn't sold on this plan at all, "But you don't have a gold ring! I can't afford to get you one. And I don't have a ring myself at all."

"Lots of folks can't afford gold rings. But what if I get you a silver one to match mine?" Beth volunteered.

Heyes frowned, "I wasn't fishing for expensive gifts from my girl who makes more money than I do!"

Beth laughed at him. "You and your pride! You bought me a ring – so I'd like to get one for you, too!"

Heyes swallowed his pride. He smiled a bit shyly. "Alright, Beth. If that's what you want to do. I'd be honored to wear any ring you'd give me."

So a few days before Christmas, Heyes and Beth were holding hands on the platform in Grand Central Depot, waiting for a train West. Both wore their silver rings. They'd never gotten to travel together before. The previous Christmas they had ridden home on different trains, to avoid impropriety. Heyes found them seats together and playfully asked Beth, "Well, Mrs. Smith, are you happy?" Beth beamed back at him. She snuggled up under Heyes' arm as they settled into their seats, Heyes by the aisle and Beth by the window.

To sit side by side and look out the window at the snowy landscape going by was a real pleasure for the pair. It was wonderful to have hours together since normally they could have only stolen moments as a pair. Sometimes they talked together, and sometimes they just sat in happy silence, watching the scenery change. The third day out, when they were past the Mississippi, they were sitting that way in companionable quiet. Heyes had changed into his western gear.

Beth suddenly felt Heyes go tense. She glanced toward him. The excellent actor that he was, he looked pretty casual. But the rigid muscles of his arm told a different story. Beth followed the gaze of Heyes' brown eyes and saw a weathered dirty-blonde man in cowboy gear walking down the aisle from the far end of the car. He had his hazel eyes unmistakably fixed on Heyes. And the stranger's gun was tied down at his hip – as was Heyes' own gun.

"Know him – from before?" whispered Beth, without looking at Heyes, and trying to look as casual as he did.

"Umhm," Heyes murmured an affirmative sound without opening his lips or taking his eyes off of the approaching cowboy.

"Dangerous man?" Beth whispered even more softly.

"U-um." Heyes made a soft, non-committal sound, again without opening his lips. Beth was unsure what to think, but she let go of his hand in case he should need the gun at his hip. She couldn't help feeling a bit excited. Beth had seen Heyes in his western gear the Christmas before in Louisville, and she had seen him play some poker at Christy's place. But she had never seen him dealing with a real outlaw – with one of his own kind, other than the Kid, of course.

As the rugged cowboy came opposite Beth and Heyes, Heyes said under his breath, "Dan?"

"Yeah, Heyes," the man replied so softly that had Beth not known what the second word had to be, she might not have been able to guess. The two men's gazes eyes met with the uneasy tension of two rival tom cats. Heyes let his hand trail lightly over Beth's arm as he got up and followed Dan down the train car's center aisle.

Beth watched the pair walk away together. She seemed to be without a trace of fear. She trusted Heyes to deal with the situation. But she made sure to be ready to move fast if she had to.

Heyes and Dan Sherwood went out the train car's end door to the windy, cold little outdoor space inside a metal railing. There was just this tiny space outdoors, leading toward the next car. The two men kept their eyes on the doors leading into the train car they had just come from and the next one. No one could overhear them in this noisy little porch-like space as long as the doors to the next cars remained closed. The pair would, at least, get a few seconds of warning if anyone came through either door. Dan smiled at Heyes, though nervously, and the smile faded in seconds. "You still straight, Heyes?"

"Yeah, Dan. You still with the McRory boys?" asked Heyes stiffly, wondering how this was going to go.

"Nah. You are out of it! I've had my own bunch these two years, nearly." The man grinned briefly.

"Congrats," said Heyes briefly and with no real enthusiasm.

"Thanks, I guess." Said Dan uneasily, "Sounds like I'm out of it, too. I heard you was shot in the head and couldn't say word one. And then I heard the Teasdale boys shot you dead. Sounds like a couple of bum rumors."

"Not really. Both got some truth in 'em. But here I am," said Heyes, carefully avoiding giving away any details.

"Nice lookin' gal on your arm, too," noted Dan.

"Thanks! There's good things about being straight. Poor, but straight," said Heyes.

"Where you headed?" asked Dan casually.

Heyes flared up at his old rival, "I said straight, I didn't say stupid!"

"Didn't mean to take liberties, Heyes. No offense," Dan backed down quickly.

"None taken." Heyes half expected Sherwood to call him Mr. Heyes. Heyes still had his old air of command – when he needed it!

Just then a conductor opened one of the train car doors and the little outlaw meeting broke up in a hurry with a pair of tipped hats. Heyes went back to Beth while his old acquaintance walked off quickly in the other direction.

As Heyes got back to his seat, he spoke to Beth under his breath. "I'm going to get our luggage. We're getting off at the next stop. Happens to be a transfer to a line south as well as west, so he can't be sure where we're really going."

Beth whispered, "Did he threaten you?"

Heyes answered very softly, thankful that no one was in the seats just behind them and in front of them was an open aisle, "Nah. He knows better. He's not a bad sort, as followers of my old profession go. We're probably safe. But probably isn't good enough. That's an awful lot of temptation to put in front of a man. Don't want to take chances – not with you."

Beth was determined to be as cool as Heyes was. "Alright, darling. I'm ready any time you say."

Heyes smiled at his girl – she might not be used to outlaws, but she kept admirably calm. They both kept their eyes peeled, watching for Dan Sherwood to return, but he didn't show. Beth didn't look nervous as she got up and carried her smaller bag while Heyes took the heavier one and his own large carpet bag.

After they got off, Beth looked around the little station carefully. She grinned at her man. "Whew! I think we made it!"

Heyes was more cautious, "For the moment. He could still jump off, or get off at the next stop and come back here. So we'd better go get out of sight. I wish there was more than one hotel in this town!"

They checked in at the small hotel over a saloon, much like Christy's place. Then Heyes went back to the train station to send a telegram to warn Cat and the Kid that their guests would be a day late but were safe. And he put in a coded reference to spotting Dan Sherwood on the train. Sherwood could show up in Louisville before Heyes and Beth got there – although it was terribly unlikely that he would choose that place, since Heyes had given the man no hint of where they were going.

Heyes and Beth were at loose ends until the next train would come the next morning. Heyes paced nervously around the little hotel room where he and Beth stayed the night as husband and wife. Beth had to work for quite a while to get her man to settle down and enjoy sharing a bed with his fiancé.

"Come on, Heyes! We've got a bed together! How long has it been since we've had that?" She patted the bed invitingly.

"Yeah, that's true. Me and my brave sweetie. I'm proud of you for staying so calm when we got off – a lot of women would've been all jumpy and made everyone wonder what was setting them off. You were cool as any cucumber!" He gave her a lingering kiss.

"Actually, it was kind of fun – watching you with that outlaw!" Beth told Heyes, stroking him down the back.

Heyes snorted, "Fun! Nothing but business on my part, and an . . . apprehensive bit of business at that. I hate being helpless! Without the Kid and the boys behind me, there's not much I can do."

"I never get to see you play outlaw in New York!" Beth smiled at the thought.

Heyes spoke sharply, "Play! There's no play about it – just business, I tell you. And not even really my business – not anymore."

Beth saw through him, though. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy parts of being an outlaw."

"Of course I did!" Heyes admitted, "A lot of it was a blast! Literally – I do love blowing things up, I got to admit. Last summer was fun. When the Kid and I were with the Hole – I tell you, for a boy nobody ever cared about before, having people know my name was really something. Yeah, getting famous was a ton of laughs. But being famous – or infamous - that's another thing altogether. Keeps me up nights."

"Not tonight!" said Beth, pulling back the bed covers.

"No, honey. Not tonight. Something else maybe . . ."

Beth only laughed.

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Once again, the Kid was stamping his feet in the Colorado chill of December as he waited at the little Louisville train station to meet friends coming from New York. His aging shearling coat had some stains on it, including from his own blood, but it still kept out the cold pretty well. As the train pulled in, the breaks hissing, Heyes didn't get off before the train quite stopped as he had in the past. He waited until it was completely still before he helped Beth down and reached up to get their bags from the end of the car.

The Kid enveloped both of his dear friends in a big, warm hug. There was no one else near, so he said, "Welcome Heyes and Mrs. Heyes!"

Beth blushed, "Well, not really yet, Jed, but we thought we'd pretend so we could travel together."

"Hope we can both do it for real, real soon," said the Kid warmly.

Curry turned to Heyes, since they were still alone as they walked toward Christy's Place in the cold, "So, you ran into Dan Sherwood? Got a bunch of his own these days, operates around Kansas mostly, they tell me. Trains and banks, just like we used to go for. He give you any trouble?"

Heyes shook his head. "Not really. He was alone, seemed like. I got us off the train before he had time to think what to do about me. I figured that if I made it just a little hard for him, he'd find a way to pass up that big reward. Hasn't been any trouble between us in a long, long time."

At Christy's, the three went in the back way. Cat was there to greet them. "Oh, Heyes, Beth, it's so great to have you back here – together!" Cat and Beth shared a warm hug.

Cat asked, "So, are you man and wife for practical purposes here? One room for you both?"

Heyes grinned self-consciously, but Beth was brazen with just her friends, "You bet, Cat! I just wish we could do it in New York."

"You hussy, you!" joked Heyes, and put his arm around Beth.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes and Beth lay side by side under a bright quilt lust luxuriating in having some time alone together before it was quite time to go to sleep.

"Heyes," said Beth quietly.

"Uh. Um. Sorry – I was almost asleep. What, Beth?"

"Sorry, Heyes," said Beth, "You go on to sleep. Lord knows, you could use it. Did you sleep at all on the train?"

"Not much – too dangerous in that public a place. Well, I can't sleep now! I'd keep wondering what you wanted. What is it, honey?" Heyes looked at Beth earnestly.

Beth smiled at him, "It's so nice to have you right here and not have to worry about anybody's seeing us together."

"Hmn. It is nice!" said Heyes, caressing his love. "But that isn't what's bothering you."

"No, Heyes. If we get married . . ."

"When we get married, Beth," Heyes corrected his fiancé gently.

Beth grinned back at him, "Yes, dear, when we get married, would you let me have a paying job still?"

"Let you? What do you mean? How and why would I stop you?" Heyes looked genuinely perplexed.

"It's in the wedding vows, and most state laws. When we're married, I have to obey you."

Heyes looked startled. "I haven't lived in a regular family home since – you know. So there's a lot I don't know. My Ma sure worked right enough on the farm – right alongside Pa. I never thought about her rights."

Beth reverted to being a teacher, and Heyes listened attentively, "But if your mother had wanted to go and work for wages, she'd have had to ask your father's permission. Legally. Her property and rights would be under his control. It's called coverture. Lots of husbands won't let their wives work – I mean outside the house, for pay. I'm asking – would you?"

Heyes was aghast at the question, "Of course! For us, I'd say you'd be my wife, my lover – NOT my employee, much less my servant. So you do what you want to do. We might have to work things out – practical details. But we'll work 'em out together. Alright with you?"

"With me, of course, Heyes! But you know that other people would look askance at you for letting your wife work outside the home."

"Look at me a-what?"

Beth smiled lovingly, "Wow! There's still a word you don't know? Askance – with disapproval, skeptically."

"Let 'em look! I care a lot more about what you think than anyone else, Beth." Heyes put his arm around his fiancé and gave her a squeeze. "But if you . . . if we had children. . ."

"Of course I'd stay home with children until they're old enough to be without me for a while. I sure do hope we can have children! And that Jed and Cat can, too!"

"I do too, honey. But why wouldn't you . . ."

"I'm no spring chicken, Heyes . . ."

"Don't say that, Beth! You're my age!"

"Well that's getting up there for a woman's having her first baby. We'll try, Heyes. I just hope I can do it."

"You will. You can do anything, Beth!"

"Oh Heyes! How'd I ever get such a good man?" asked Beth happily.

"Just lucky, I guess." Heyes gave Beth a wink and a kiss. "I think I did pretty well on that bargain myself." He enjoyed the happy look on Beth's face. He thought of how he hadn't used to bother to say nice little things to women he was with. He just didn't care that much about how they felt. Now he cared very much!

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Over dinner that night in the bigger of the two back rooms at Christy's, the Kid asked Heyes, "So how's it going tutoring that kid from Montana? You any good at it?"

Heyes grinning into his napkin while Beth smiled more openly. "Of course he's good at it!" Beth bragged. "He was born to teach!"

Heyes looked up, "Yeah, the boy's learning. I do love it! To do something that actually helps the world, instead of hurting it the way we always used to. It's the greatest thing in the world, Kid! They just have to let me teach!"

Beth stroked Heyes' shoulder, "Tell them about . . ."

Heyes grinned again, "Oh yeah! Peale and I worked for a month coming up with a special saddle so Tom can go riding. He'd never gotten on a horse before! We got a local saddler to help – had to make it secure, but so he can get out in case of trouble. We finally got it figured out – pays to have a physicist who understands stresses and balance. It works like a charm! And that boy, I tell you, it's transformed him! Now he's got some legs he can count on – four of them! He loves to gallop more than anything!"

"That's great, Heyes!" said Cat. "What a wonderful idea! I'll bet that boy would do anything for you."

"Well, I hope he won't turn me in if he ever figures out the wrong thing," Heyes winked at Cat.

Cat asked, "How're you coming along toward graduating, Heyes? It's been three years. Doesn't a B.A. take four years?"

"Not for my Heyes!" Beth said with pride in her man, "He's got all his B.A. credits in place except for two hours. He'll be on to graduate credits all but one class next semester."

"Yeah," said Heyes, "Can you folks come to New York in May for my B.A. graduation, do you think? We can put you up at a nice hotel."

"Wouldn't miss it, partner!" said the Kid, clapping Heyes on the back. He seldom said it openly, but he was as proud as Beth was of how well Heyes was doing.

"What happens after that, Heyes?" asked Cat.

"The plan," said Heyes, "is that I want to finish up the M.A. in just one year after next semester, so I can graduate with the M.A. spring after this coming."

"So the two degrees - that usually take six years, he'll have done in four and a half!" Beth boasted while Heyes blushed a bit.

Beth had hardly finished speaking when the door to the saloon front room opened and Joe the bar tender came in, "Would you put up with a visitor, Mr. Smith? A man came in asking for you." All four of the people around the table automatically tensed. A stranger in search on either one of the boys was not likely to be good news, but they couldn't pretend Smith wasn't there. Everyone in the place knew that he was. And what if the stranger really was an old friend?

"What's the guy look like, Joe? He give a name?" asked the Kid, trying to sound casual. But Joe knew who the boys really were and why they would be nervous of a stranger.

"He's a tall, thin, grey haired guy – maybe 60? All alone. Said his name was Hal Smith, as a matter of fact. He a relative, Mr. Smith?" Joe winked at Heyes, "You know him? He didn't ask for both you boys – just Smith."

Heyes and the Kid exchanged glances, unsure what to do. "I don't know the name and I must know half a dozen guys could fit the description. Might be an alias," speculated Heyes nervously.

Before Joe could go back through the door, or the boys could even make up their minds, the door to the saloon opened. A man who could only be "Hal Smith," came through it. He was holding up a very familiar looking newspaper clipping, with the picture of "eccentric graduate student Joshua Smith" on it.

"So there you are!" said the old man with a smile. Four pairs of surprised eyes met his, with no sign of recognition from any one of them. He continued happily, "This here newspaper sure has helped me. I been looking for you for eight years, Hannibal Heyes!"


	33. Chapter 33

Heyes looked at the stranger feeling considerable trepidation, but he kept cool on the outside and was pleased that Beth also kept her composure. The Kid had his hand under the table on the grip of his pistol, but he knew better than to draw if it wasn't absolutely necessary. Cat looked at Hal Smith with nothing but evident curiosity.

Heyes said to the stranger, "What are you talking about, Mister? My name is Joshua Smith. That's what the article says, doesn't it? And it's right!"

The grizzled old boy shook his head with a sparkle in his blue eyes, "That might fool the tourists, Mr. Heyes, but not me! Maybe you don't remember eight years ago when you rode into Wellington, Colorado?" Hal Smith looked challengingly into Heyes' eyes.

Heyes' face was a blank. After all the little towns he had ridden in and out of before he and the Kid had gone straight, not to mention after, he had no memory of the moment to which the man referred.

"Looks like you don't recall it. Well, sir, I'll never forget it!" said Hal Smith, stroking his beard with a grin on his face, "you rode into town with my little grandson Solomon Smith on the saddle in front of you. You'd just scooped him up before a bunch of longhorns could trample him under! We're all no end grateful to you, Mr. Heyes!"

Heyes smiled uncertainly. He did remember grabbing up a small boy just before a bunch of longhorn cattle could run him down. Heyes and the Kid had been split up riding from a posse when it had happened. Heyes felt about this turn of events the way he had felt a couple of years later when he and the Kid had first caught a break for not stealing – when they left the jewels and money in Senior Armendariz's safe and were allowed to ride away free men. He was startled to actually have someone know who he really was and yet want not to turn him in. The man actually wanted to thank Hannibal Heyes! Heyes was starting to remember that he done a couple of decent things for people even before he had gone straight. He guessed that their good reputation as outlaws wasn't entirely undeserved.

"Yeah," said Hal Smith gladly, "You dropped the boy off at the door of my general store nice and safe – Smith General Store. You rode off before I could get out the door to get the boy. So I never did have the chance to thank you. You might not recall, but my grandson, but he'll never forget it! Can't tell you how many times he's told that story to folks – made you gentlemen mighty popular in our little town! When he saw this old newspaper blowing down the street and picked it up, he recognized you right off. So then I finally knew how to find you and thank you, Mr. Heyes."

Heyes smiled self-consciously, "I don't deny picking up the boy before the cattle could run him down just outside your town, Mr. Smith, but my name is Smith, too. And you've no particular cause to thank me – anybody would have done the same. Could hardly leave the little guy where he'd fallen there in the dust with a herd coming! He was so scared – he just kinda froze."

"No, sir, you're a good man, but you're lying there twice," said Hal Smith, "My boy's boy, Solomon, says that herd was big and coming fast and you rode right in front of it at the risk of your life – barely got away from being gored or trampled yourself. Solomon remembers another man with you – not Mr. Curry here – yelled at you 'Stop Heyes!' That's how we knew who you was. Everybody knew you Devil's Hole boys was riding through there with a posse on your tails. And you rode off so quick – was pretty clear you was in a hurry for good reason. Besides, you look just like the posters say what else are you doing here eating next to a guy can't be anybody but Kid Curry?"

"Alright, alright, Mr. Smith, you got me." Heyes put his hands up in surrender. Then he stood up and shook the man's hand. "I'm glad to meet you."

"I'm sure tickled to meet you, Mr. Heyes! And don't you all worry for a moment on our account;" said Hal Smith with a blazing bright smile, "I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt any of you, not for no matter what anybody paid me. My Solomon, he's everything to me after his daddy died ten years back. He'll have my store for his own one day. If there's anything an old general store keeper can ever do for you, you just ask. As much of my stock as you want is yours for free, for life, Mr. Heyes or Mr. Curry or your good ladies. Come over to Wellington to the Smith General Store and stock up on calico or flour or ammunition or what have you, any time!"

Heyes was starting to blush, "Thank you very, much Mr. Smith! That's right friendly of you. We wouldn't think of taking advantage of you. We don't steal any longer. Went straight six years ago."

Smith beamed, "Makes me right glad to hear that you both are living by God's commandments now. Is it true what this paper says – are you really bettering yourself? Are you really a University student in New York City?" Heyes felt hypocritical, but it wasn't really practical to correct Mr. Smith and tell him that his hero Hannibal Heyes had killed a man.

Instead, Heyes just nodded, "Well, the guy got it a bit wrong. I'm not a graduate student yet – but I will be very soon. I'm just finishing up my bachelor's degree in mathematics so I can make an honest living. Then I want to marry this nice lady here, and the Kid, he'll marry his own lady!"

Mr. Smith looked utterly overjoyed, "That's good news, Mr. Heyes! My grandson will be real happy to hear that. I wish you both, you all four, every happiness! How did you ever get started studying in New York, Mr. Heyes, if I may make so bold?"

"That kind of a long story and I don't want to go into all of it. But after we went straight, I got shot in the head and needed more medical help than they could give me here – wound up in New York. And it happened from there. So I feel real lucky to be alive and well, much less studying math and hoping to teach it."

Hal Smith was surprised, "You're gonna be a teacher? In a schoolhouse?"

Heyes shook his head, "Not a schoolhouse, Mr. Smith, no. I'll teach college, I hope. Maybe in one of the new colleges out here in the West. That's what I hope. I want to do my best to make up for all the harm I caused before. I want to help people. That's what I'm devoting my life to, now. And the Kid is, too. He's helping out the law."

Tears of joy came to Mr. Smith's eyes and he wiped them with a snowy-white handkerchief. "Oh, that is the best thing I ever did hear! I knew you was a good soul, Mr. Heyes, and your partner, Mr. Curry, too. I just knew it! We've spent the last eight years trying to convince folks that you really was good, and now here you are proving us right all over! I am just absolutely de-lighted to know that you are working to do good in the world. I guess there's some justice, after all! That's why you're alive, you know. God saved you to do his work, I'm sure of it." Beth looked at Heyes with pride – not for the first time!

"I don't know about that, Mr. Smith," said Heyes softly, "But I'm doing my best. And I feel very fortunate."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So despite their momentary fears of discovery, the Kid and Heyes, and Cat and Beth, had a very happy and safe Christmas after all. They sang together and ate together and celebrated the holiday together. Heyes had never been an openly religious man, but he couldn't help thinking that maybe the Godly Mr. Smith was at least partially right. Maybe Heyes had been saved from a whole bunch of dangers because of his good intensions. Or at least, his good friends – the Kid, and Cat, and Dr. Grauer, and Peggy, and Lom Trevors, and Beth, and Dr. Leutze, and Jim, and Charlie and Marie Homer, and Polly, and Theron Wiseman, and Matthias Peale, and all of his dear friends at Columbia University, and even the doctor who had taken the Kid's bullet out of his hip. A whole lot of people had saved him these last few years.

Heyes felt blessed, indeed. He just hoped he wouldn't have to be saved too many more times. He was anxious to move on from being helped to helping other people. What he was doing for Tom O'Keeffe, with Matthias Peale's help, was just the beginning of the good he hoped to do with the rest of his life. But Heyes still had a load of worries – the long delayed amnesty offer and a man slaughter charge hanging over his head not the least of them.


	34. Chapter 34

Heyes already knew what a graduate seminar looked like, of course. As an undergraduate for the past three years, he had looked enviously in the doors of seminars. He knew that he couldn't wait to be in a class that intense, held in a small conference room around a table rather than in a big room full of little desks as undergraduate classes were. As he walked into his first graduate mathematics seminar in late January, on advanced geometry, Heyes fought to keep a big, silly grin off of his face. The students were starting to gather in leather padded chairs around an elegant, polished, mahogany table. Heyes knew them all – including Ev Carter, who gave him a secret little flash of a smile. Some of the students had brought mugs of coffee. All had brought very serious, thick notebooks and small piles of leather-bound texts, as had Heyes. There were already complex shapes and equations on the small black board behind the professor's chair at the head of the table. Heyes had rarely been so happy and excited in his life. There was no place in this classroom to hide; no one who truly belonged here would want to stay out of the spotlight during the demanding discussions. Every one of the eight students in the class would be intensely involved.

Professor Homer walked in and warmly said, "Welcome, gentlemen!" He looked around the table and smilingly met the eyes of each student in turn, including the shining gaze of Hannibal Heyes, sitting at the far end of the table on the right. When Homer said, "Let's get to it! This semester, gentlemen, we will be attacking geometric problems and theory . . ." Heyes felt like had gotten to heaven without the trouble of dying first. This was a class for real adults and he finally, finally got to be one of them! Heyes felt that his only serious problem in classrooms like this would be keeping himself from being too obnoxious about dominating the student end of the discussion.

Heyes' only remaining undergraduate class to be gotten out of the way that spring was an advanced chemistry class, so it afforded him no chance to relax. Between this and his array of graduate mathematics classes, the westerner was kept as intellectually busy as he had ever been in his life.

But it wasn't as though he had nothing else on his mind. On day in early February, Heyes strolled into Professor Homer's office and dropped into his familiar seat opposite his advisor's desk.

As the door closed, Homer said, "Hello Heyes! How do you like graduate work?"

Heyes laughed with joy. "I love it, Charlie! What, couldn't you tell?"

Homer laughed, too. "No, you'd kept it a total secret, Heyes! Between blathering every minute in discussions and whistling in the halls, you're about to drive us all crazy. So why do you suddenly look so serious?"

"You heard anything from Cheyenne yet?" Heyes asked, looking, indeed, extremely serious.

Now Charlie Homer looked pretty somber, too. "From the Wyoming Territorial Governor's Office? No. Have you?"

"No!" Heyes now looked openly worried. "I sent a telegram to Lom Trevors and he says no news. Nothing! There've been so many . . . Territorial Governors since the Kid and I first asked for amnesty in '83 that I can hardly keep track of 'em. It's . . . Francis Warren now, the old Civil War soldier. It's his second time around, so he knows about us – though we've never met up in person yet. You know I've got to get amnesty before I can graduate with the B.A. with my real name. And if I don't have amnesty, we can't tell the University my real name or they could turn me in. If the . . . diploma says Joshua Smith, no one's going to hire Hannibal Heyes on the strength of it!"

Homer leaned his head on his hand and rubbed his temple is if he had a headache, "I know, Heyes, I know! Wyoming's my home territory, after all! And it's well along with becoming a state. Could come through later this year. If that happens, who knows what the politics around you guys' amnesty will be! You'd have to start all over again with the new governor, once he gets elected."

Heyes nodded, "Don't I know it, Charlie! The politics of this gets worse than any equation ever invented. We've worked with governor after governor and still nothing! And Warren moved to Wyoming in 1868, so he sure remembers the days when the Kid and I were the terrors of the territory. I'll send another telegram to Lom and yet another letter to the Governor. And so will the Kid. If you could write to Governor Warren yourself, I'd be no end grateful. I don't have to tell you to do it with the greatest security."

"Of course, Heyes. But since my own boss doesn't know your real name yet, and neither does his boss, the whole things gotta be done with about a dozen pairs of kid gloves." Homer sighed heavily. "I'll get to it."

Heyes looked anxiously at his advisor. "Charlie, if this thing's gonna endanger your career, forget it. I'll do it on my own or it won't happen."

Homer snorted, "You don't think my career's already in danger?"

Heyes held his head in his hands and muttered, "Oh, Charlie, I'm so sorry about this whole thing! What on earth am I doing? What am I doing to you, and Marie, and the Kid, and Dr. Leutze, and Beth, and . . . everybody?"

"Nothing that we didn't agree to and don't believe in completely, Heyes! Every one of use believes in you right up to the hilt!"exclaimed Homer. "Don't worry! I'll write that letter if it's the last thing I do. Just keep your nose clean, alright? No gun play! No poker!"

Heyes nodded. "Of course, Charlie. I'll go to church on Sundays and everything."

"Well, don't go overboard about it!" said Homer with a wink.

Heyes laughed bitterly. "But whatever happens, I'm in your debt, Charles Homer. Thank you!"

"Don't mention it, Heyes," replied Homer.

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Three weeks later, Homer called Heyes into his office. Heyes was dismayed by the bleak look on his advisor's face. He could see a letter on formal stationary sitting on Homer's desk. He recognized the seal of the Territory of Wyoming with a farmer and miner flanking the figure of equal rights and a pair of flaming lamps. Heyes hung his head in disappointment. He figured that he already knew what Homer was going to say. It was just a repetition of the same bad news that had been coming to him and to the Kid from Cheyenne for more than six years.

Homer cleared his throat. "I wrote to Warren in Cheyenne. He wrote back. The answer is no." He pointed to the official letter.

But Homer didn't stop there, "No amnesty for you or the Kid. Unless . . ." Heyes looked up, startled, "unless you and the Kid will appear before the territorial governor in person and plead your case. Go up over spring break at the beginning of April – if you're late back I'll cover for you."

Heyes looked hard into his advisor's eyes. "But what if we don't come back at all? What if Warren just wants us to go up there so they can grab us and put us in prison?"

"He promises that he won't do that." Homer shrugged, "Do you trust him?"

"I don't know what to think, Charlie," said Heyes dejectedly, "But if it's the only way, I guess we got to go up. I'll wire the Kid about it and see what we can set up."

After that, Heyes was a lot quieter and less enthusiastic in his graduate classes. He did well, but his friends and professors wondered what was wrong with Joshua Smith. Only Charlie Homer knew the answer and he wasn't telling.

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"Oh Heyes, the governor just has to come through! That's more than six years they've been dangling amnesty in front of you!" said Beth with passion as she and Heyes sat side by side on the Homers' couch. "I wish you'd let me come along and plead for you."

"No!" insisted Heyes, "I can't put you in danger like that, and if he won't listen to me and the Kid ourselves, then a sobbing gal won't help."

Beth looked seriously offended. "I beg your pardon!"

Heyes sighed. "I'm sorry Beth, but think about it. All you can say is I was a good student with you and you love me. No one will think your testimony is anything but seriously prejudiced. And they'd be right."

"I guess they would. If it would worry and distract you, then I won't come." Beth stroked Heyes' long hair lovingly. "But I'll worry every minute that you're gone."

"Then you might be worried for the rest of your life, because I don't think we're coming back, Beth. I think the Kid and I will be in the Wyoming Territorial – or soon State – Penitentiary for the rest of our lives."

Beth was a tough lady, but at that she burst into tears. When she could speak she said, "Then why are you going, Heyes?"

Heyes replied testily, "Because I've been wrong before and I sure hope that I am now. And if we don't do what the governor says, he never will give us amnesty. We got to grab at any chance we can get. Oh, Beth, I don't know!"

"Well, I do know one thing, Heyes," said Beth, "I do love you!" They shared a long embrace that ended only when Marie Homer called them to the dining room as she brought dinner in.

The next day, Heyes packed his best suits and took the train towards Cheyenne, Wyoming. He and the Kid would not meet until they got to the actual building where the territorial governor would meet them. Heyes and the Kid could not afford to be seen together until they absolutely had to. They were afraid of more than just not getting amnesty. They hadn't been seen together in Wyoming in five years, and they surely were a well known pair there. They would be lucky if they could manage to even get to Wyoming without being nabbed, much less get to the building where Governor Francis Warren would be meeting them.

Heyes had to really battle his nerves on the train north and west. He slept as much as he could, or looked out the window at the budding and blooming green spring trees. The first day out, he spotted a man on the train taking a nip from a flask. From then on Heyes kept thinking about whiskey and wishing he could just drown everything in drink. It was the worst case of alcohol craving he had suffered in a long time. He was not anxious for his awful fantasies about the governor to walk out of his head into reality.

On the fourth day's travel, Heyes dressed in his best suit – they would be meeting the governor that evening. But on the train, he had his gun strapped down at his hip. As the afternoon got late he put his old black cowboy hat on so he could hide under it to pretend to take a nap before they got in to Cheyenne. At least it would cover his features, although he couldn't possibly relax enough to really sleep.

Heyes was actually starting to drowse a bit when he was rudely awakened by a voice saying, "Hands up, Hannibal Heyes!"

Heyes' eyes opened as suddenly as they ever had in his life. He was about to break into a sweat when he found himself looking from under the low brim of his hat into the intense blue eyes of a boy about four years old who was gripping a toy gun and wearing a little tin star. Heyes suppressed a relieved smile. He sat up and put his hands in the air. "You got the drop on me, sheriff," said Heyes in his most solemn and deepest voice.

"Sorry, Mister!" said a young woman, who dashed over and took her son's hand. "He does that to everybody. I appreciate you playing along."

Heyes tipped his ragged hat, "Not a problem, Ma'am. Guess we must have crossed into Wyoming – Devil's Hole territory. Have to watch for those boys myself." He winked at the little boy who was being led away in disappointment.

The woman laughed as she dragged her son from his new play mate. "Yes, sir, we just did." As she got a few yards away Heyes heard her say to her husband, "Actually, Bobby's got a point there. That man sure does look like the description of Hannibal Heyes!"

Heyes got dinner on the train and kept looking at his battered old pocket watch. The train was running a bit late and he worried that it might make him late for their meeting. The train pulled into Cheyenne with not much more than a half hour to spare. Heyes got off, hardly seeing the grand arches of the new stone train station. He ducked into the wash room to brush his hair and make sure he looked his best. He gave his face a quick wash and wiped under his arms. He was already starting to sweat, and it was a chilly early April evening. He went to the station's locker room and paid a dollar to rent a locker. Heyes felt distinctly uneasy at taking off his pistol and putting it, and his other belongings, behind so flimsy a lock. But that was the deal and he had no choice. He could not show up with any weapons on him.

Heyes walked down Fifteenth Street in the fast gathering dusk feeling as if he was going to a gun fight against a fast draw artist. He schooled himself to look calm, but his heart was pounding a mile a minute. As he got to the non-descript hotel where he and the Kid would be meeting the governor, he spotted a familiar figure with a graying brown mustache. The pair walked into the lobby of the run-down hotel and found a quiet corner of the room, away from the two or three guys hanging out there. "So, Lom, how are you?" said Heyes, quietly. He hadn't seen his friend the sheriff in five years.

Trevors smiled nervously and shook Heyes' hand. "Glad to hear you talkin' again, hmn, Joshua."

Heyes ducked his head self-consciously, "I drive 'em crazy at Columbia talkin' up a storm in my classes. But tonight, I don't intend to say a word more than I have to."

"Sounds wise to me," said Lom. "And here comes . . . Mr. Jones."

"Gentlemen . . ." said the Kid, reaching out to shake the hand of each of his two friends in turn. He was wearing the same old grey suit he had worn for good occasions for about the last eight years and it was starting to wear some. Heyes looked far more sophisticated in his newest grey suit in the latest eastern fashion – it was only a couple of years old. Heyes worried that the polish of his own presentation might actually make his partner look bad.

"You ready, Jed?" asked Heyes. "I, for one, don't want to say very much. If we wind up doing a lot of pleading, it'll just make us look . . . desperate. If our actions can't win him over, our words don't have much chance."

The Kid looked startled at this. "Lom, we'd better watch for pigs flyin' by and hell freezin' over, cause I thought I just heard my partner say he couldn't talk a man into something."

Heyes grinned at his partner's joke, but only briefly, "Well, you sure are hearing him say we can't make much more of a plan, cause look at that clock. We got to get up those steps right now or we'll be late to meet Mr. Warren. The train was in a bit late, so I just got here." He was careful not to use the governor's title where anyone could overhear him, and there were other men in the lobby. They didn't want the rumor of this meeting to get around!

The three men walked up the stairs to the third floor, Trevors leading Heyes and the Kid. Three more solemn looking men would have been hard to find.

Lom Trevors found room 313 and knocked on the door. A burly man in an ill-fitting suit looked at the three men standing in the hall. He walked out with three companions and patted down Trevors, Heyes, and Curry. There was not a pistol or knife among them, just as their agreement had specified. The man finally let the three into the hotel room. The four strongly built and heavily armed men stood around the room with their hands on their pistol grips. The governor was taking no chances,

Governor Francis Warren, a tall, broadly built man with a graying handle-bar mustache and wire-rimmed glasses greeted them all with handshakes. "I'm glad to see you again Lom. And so these gentlemen are Jedediah Curry and Hannibal Heyes. I've waited a long time for this honor."

"Thank you, sir," said the Kid politely, but Heyes only nodded. He detected a slight and he wasn't about to say anything about it. If this jolly politician thought that he could lure Heyes into saying something stupid, the former outlaw was determined to disappoint him.

"Well, let's get to it," said the Governor in his impressive bass voice. "You boys are still out for amnesty. And I'm perfectly willing to consider it."

Heyes took a deep breath and resisted making a smart-aleck come-back. As if nearly six and a half years hadn't been long enough for anyone to consider it already!

"Mr. Heyes," said the Governor. Heyes looked at the man, who was taller and great deal larger than he was.

"Yes, sir," said Heyes noncommittally.

"I confess myself to be very pleased with your conduct. You've kept your nose very clean. You are obviously an excellent and very hard working student. Professor Homer says that you are one of the most brilliant men he has ever met. I don't doubt it. You've done Wyoming proud." Heyes resisted the urge to smile. He knew that more was coming and that it wouldn't be nearly so good.

"Except," said the Governor, "for one thing. I imagine that you can guess what that is, Heyes."

"Yes, sir," said Heyes steadily. He knew that the governor meant the man-slaughter charge, but he wasn't going to say anything before the governor did.

The Governor was now going to lay his cards on the table, "You know that you are wanted in four states and territories, boys, so it isn't just my decision. The governor of Montana insists that before you get amnesty, Heyes, you have to stand trial for the man you killed. Will you agree to a public trial?"

Heyes' lips parted. A public trial? Guilty could get him hanged. Innocent could get him the rest of his life in prison.

"On one condition, sir," said Heyes. "That no one in that courtroom other than the judge knows my real name."

The governor's white eyebrows rose, "That's a bold request Heyes! I can't tell you my opinion on the case, of course."

"Of course not, sir," responded Heyes humbly.

"It isn't my decision. But I'll speak to Governor Toole of Montana about it."

"Thank you, sir. I can't ask better than that," said Heyes.

"Now as for you, Jedediah Curry," said the Governor, turning to the Kid. "I must say that we, we four concerned Governors of Wyoming, Texas, Colorado, and Montana, we see you two as a package deal. It's amnesty for both or neither. Our consideration is that either one of you could tempt the other back to crime if he wished to do so. So Curry, Heyes' excellent work doesn't hurt you. But you have your own problems."

The Kid swallowed uneasily and exchanged a worried glance with his partner. Could they have found out about the Teasdale brothers? That could easily be seen as a double murder despite the women and children Curry had been defending when he had killed the two brothers on Hester Street.

The Governor's deep voice went on, "Our feeling is that you have done some good work with Sheriff Wilde. But having you run a saloon doesn't help your case. You are not seen as benefitting Colorado citizens as much as you could in the long run. Heyes is proposing to teach college level math – an undoubted benefit to society. Once you have amnesty, may I assume that you are planning to stop working with Sheriff Wilde and just continue running your hotel and saloon?"

"That was the plan, sir," said the Kid, with his heart in his cowboy boots.

"Curry, I understand," said the Governor, "that Wilde would like to retire after you get amnesty. Would you consider taking on the job of Sheriff after he retires? We don't expect you to make the law your long-term career – we can't force that on a free man. But that's a rough area and Governor Cooper of Colorado needs a good lawman there. Would you consider taking on the job of sheriff of Louisville for a minimum of three years?"

The Kid spoke steadily. "Myself, sir, I would seriously consider it. But that's not the safest job in the world. I would need to speak to my fiancé about it. We are hoping to have children, once I get amnesty and we can marry. . ."

The Governor looked at Kid Curry with far more compassion than the boys would have expected. "I entirely understand, Curry. It might not be much safer than being a wanted outlaw."

"And they've waited a long time already, sir," said Lom Trevors.

"I appreciate that, but getting the agreement of four governors is a ticklish business," said Governor Warren, "especially as I could be out on my ear any time when we become a state. Well, alright then, gentlemen. Mr. Curry, communicate with me as soon as you can. And I will speak to Toole in Montana about your request, Heyes. In May I will let you know our collective decision."

"That won't be in time for Heyes to go up to Montana after classes to stand trial before he graduates with his B.A., sir!" said Trevors.

"I realize that, but it's the best I can do, Trevors," snapped the Governor, "Heyes will have to wait until his M.A. graduation next spring. I've communicated with Professor Homer about it. He thinks that he can arrange for the University to allow Heyes to continue with classes toward the M.A. without actually graduating him with the B.A. yet. He could get both degrees at once next year. He thinks he can explain to the University president without giving away Heyes' identity."

"He thinks!" said Heyes with the first trace of anger and impatience in his voice.

The governor exploded, "That's the best I can do, Heyes! After months of negotiations with three other governors and a professor and two sheriffs, that's the best I can do for the worst pair of outlaws in the history of Wyoming! I give no guarantees! Good evening, gentlemen!" Warren gestured for his bodyguards to escort Trevors, Heyes, and Curry from the room. Their interview with the governor was at an end.


	35. Chapter 35

Trevors, Heyes, and Curry walked down the stairs slowly in silence, not meeting each other's eyes. They hardly knew what to think about the meeting they had just left. Heyes had certainly not talked anyone into anything, nor had any of them had much opportunity to plead any cause. The Governor knew the situation and had told them what he could and could not do. They trio was left having to wait with no guarantee, as the governor had said, of what, if anything, they would learn in May.

The three walked down the street back toward the train station. Curry and Heyes did not dare to stay the night in this town where their names and descriptions were about as well known as the mayor's, or the governor's. Truthfully they were far better known than either politician. But they dared not assume that they were more popular!

And besides, they had their guns and other belongings to pick up from the not very dependable lockers in the train station. It was perilous to be long without their weapons. They walked through streets that looked very strange to Curry and Trevors at night. The city of Cheyenne was brightly illuminated by the newly invented incandescent lights that they had not seen in any other western town. Heyes, of course, knew electric lights from parts of New York City.

The three did not walk together in the artificial brightness that could disclose their faces all too clearly to passersby. That close a juxtaposition of Curry's and Heyes' features in this town, or this territory, could be fatal. Heyes silently took the lead alone, with Curry and Trevors a good twenty paces behind him. The Kid watched Heyes walk, hands in his pockets as they often were when he had no pistol grip to lean on, his head at an angle in distracted thought, kicking his glossy black eastern riding boots in the dust. Heyes had always been just a bit gimpy, ever since a bad childhood accident with a horse. But now, it seemed to the wincing Kid, that his partner limped noticeably – ever since Curry had shot him in the hip. It was strange, actually, for Curry to see his partner this way distantly from the back – usually they walked side by side.

The three did not even take the risk of speaking before going their separate ways on three separate trains. Trevors departed first, after only about an hour, going north-west.

For the next hour plus, Curry and Heyes paced up and down in separate paths under the grand vaults of the station's ceiling, trying not to meet and yet desperate to be together before this next long parting. They passed each other periodically near the center of the elaborately ornamented lobby. As they came nearly together, they could speak under their breaths for a few seconds at a time. Heyes whispered, "What happened to your good New York suit?"

"Moths ate it last summer!" hissed Curry back. Heyes choked back a laugh.

As they passed again ten minutes later, the Kid muttered sarcastically, "Brilliant negotiator!"

"House of cards!" countered Heyes.

Fifteen minutes later the partners crossed paths again, Heyes starting to murmur, "That man . . ."

Curry finished his sentence, "actually seems pretty reasonable."

About seventeen minutes later Heyes was able to reply. "Yeah, he does."

"Best from Cat," said the Kid.

"And to her from Beth and me," responded Heyes. He stopped and looked into his partner's troubled blue eyes, but a porter started to stare at them and they nervously parted ways again.

A few minutes later, Curry left on a south bound train.

Heyes was left to wait for terrifying hours by himself, pacing up and down. Was that a sheriff watching him? No, the glance of light off the man's chest came from a stick pin, not a tin star. Did he know the ragged cowboy there waiting for a train? No, as he grew closer, the man's face was utterly unfamiliar. Heyes turned from every glance, friendly or no, in fear that someone would recognize his infamous dimpled features.

Finally, well after midnight, Heyes took a train east. As always, he dreaded meeting anyone he had known out west. Nearly any such encounter could be disastrous – or even fatal. But Heyes finally fell asleep near morning, snoring under his old black had as his train chugged back to New York City and Columbia University.

When Heyes finally arrived in New York, four days later, his "spring break" had scarcely justified its name. He had known nothing but stress and worry and exhaustion. He had his first class that very afternoon. As Heyes trudged to class, wrinkled and dirty, he met his friend Neal George. Heyes was raggedly shaven and a bit nicked from trying to use a straight razor on the rattling train. His saddle bags were thrown over his shoulder. There had been no time to return to his rented room. "What the heck, Smith?" asked Neal George.

"Don't ask, NG, just don't ask!" said Heyes in a hoarse voice. So NG didn't. But he did wonder.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"So," Heyes told Beth and the Homers, in the privacy of the Homers' apartment much later that night, "that's where we stand. It might be nowhere."

"I wish to God that you could count on even having the same governors to deal with from year to year," said Charlie Homer thoughtfully, over his wife's good roast beef, "but those territorial governors are political appointees and those posts are total political footballs. Back and forth with every shift of the wind."

"That's for sure," said Heyes. "There've been six changes of Wyoming Territorial governor since we asked for amnesty in '83 – six! Six changes – not six governors – Warren has held it twice and so did Morgan. And that's just Wyoming Territory – there've been six changes in Montana – including their just becoming a state, three in Colorado, and thank goodness only one in Texas! If they could be from the same party it might be child's play!"

"No, Heyes" laughed Marie, "it never would be! They're all politicians!"

"That's for sure!" agreed Beth. "They do put you through it, poor Heyes and poor Kid! Well, they'll be no change in me!"

Homer, Mrs. Homer, and Beth all raised their wine glasses and so did Heyes. His friends would remain true through it all, he felt sure. He just wished that all of his friends could know the truth. It really bothered Heyes to hide so much from Huxtable, Ev, and NG, not to mention Tom O'Keeffe and so many others.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon and the last exam of the spring semester had just let out for Heyes a bit over a month after his return from Wyoming. He headed for the math lounge, which was even scroungier and dumpier looking than usual this time of year, with bits of food and paper and assorted trash scattered all over the aging, stained furniture. There Joshua Smith met up with Ev and NG. "So, last exam of the semester! Undergrad is gone for good!" exclaimed Ev in high spirits. NG looked more relieved than elated – he wasn't sure how he had done on his last exam.

"Let's get out of here and go enjoy the spring air, boys!" suggested Heyes. "I purely can't stand one more minute in this grimy old building. What about heading for Central Park and seeing what's going on there?"

"Sounds good to me, Kansas!" exclaimed Paul Huxtable, who was just arriving from his own last exam. He jumped up to tag the top of the lounge's door frame playfully. "Another ace!" The others laughed – Huxtable always aced exams, at least so far as they ever heard. His consistently high class placements supported his boasts amply.

An earnest young woman in a conservative suit and glasses put her head into the lounge. They all recognized her vaguely as an employee in the administrative offices of their college within Columbia University - Columbia College - but no one knew her name. "Is Joshua Smith here?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss. That's me," said Heyes, unsure what this would be about. Could it possibly be the amnesty coming through, despite what the Governor had said?

The young office worker looked at him with a smile. "Could you please come and meet with the Dean of Columbia College on," she looked down at a pad of paper, "Thursday at 11:00AM?"

"Yes, Miss, I'll be there," said Smith docilely. It wouldn't do to ignore the dean. He was a nice guy, but he was a dean. "What's it about, do you know?" asked Heyes, brushing his now very long hair back from his face for about the hundredth time that day. It had been months since he had had time or attention to spare for a haircut.

"It is nothing to be discussed in public," the young office worker said discretely, looking back and forth at Smith's friends.

"Oh," said Heyes, barely suppressing a grin. Now he did have high hopes!

"And Mr. Huxtable, if you could come to see the Dean at 11:30?" added the young lady.

"Yes, Miss," answered Huxtable with a smirk. Clearly, he had his own ideas of what these appointments were about, and it didn't seem a bad thing. Heyes revised his own hopes. Huxtable sure wasn't getting amnesty, too! And Heyes supposed that any news about amnesty would come to him through Charlie or Lom or both of them before the Dean. He might even get a wire from the Kid or from the governor himself first thing of all. After all, last Heyes knew, the dean of Columbia College did not yet know who Smith really was!

Heyes still had a series of potentially disastrous revelations to make to two levels of administration before he left Columbia University. With Charlie Homer's support, he hoped that he could survive it, but there was no doubt that it would be the most dangerous point in his academic career – and quite possibly the end of it.

Come Thursday morning at 11:00 sharp, Heyes, suited and brushed, with brightly polished shoes and a fresh hair cut, was sitting in the waiting room outside of the Columbia College administrative offices. "Mr. Smith?" called an anonymous young male secretary, "Would you please come in?"

Heyes walked into the elegantly furnished office with the appearance of perfect calm, despite a powerful mix of emotions churning inside him.

"Mr. Smith!" exclaimed the portly dean, emerging from behind his polished desk to shake Smith's hand. "Please accept my congratulations on yet another distinguished semester! You seem to take to graduate work extremely well."

"Thank you very much, sir!" It was strange for Heyes to hear such enthusiasm from a man he had only rarely met or even seen. Evidently, Joshua Smith's reputation on paper and between administrators was a very fine one. Smith smiled with all the restraint he could manage. It was a very sweet moment to have come to the end of his undergraduate career without open disaster, at least so far as the college administration knew. He might even salvage a bit of triumph if the law did not intervene.

The dean gestured for Smith to take a seat in the luxuriously padded chair opposite his desk.

"I will come straight to the point, Smith," said the dean in a friendly baritone. "You have succeeded in graduating at the head of the class of Columbia College. Congratulations!" The dean leaned across his desk to shake Joshua Smith's hand once again.

"Thank you!" said Heyes, a bit stunned. As his classes had grown more difficult from year to year, and as his personal life had failed at times in serenity, his grades had not remained as stellar as they had when he had been a freshman. But evidently, no one else at in the college, the largest at the University, had kept to that earlier level either! Heyes was wondering why the dean had bothered to summon a student to his office in order to give him this academic news.

The dean spoke now in ringing ceremonial phrases, "Mr. Smith, we would be privileged if you would agree to attend the Columbia College spring convocation of 1890 as our valedictorian." For a long moment Heyes could not speak at all. This honor from his college caught him utterly off guard. It was not at all automatic for the holder of the top grade average to be granted this supreme honor. The student had also to be considered exemplary in every way – in the classroom and out. The valedictorian was considered the finest and most honorable man at the college. Heyes had never in his life been considered by anyone to be anything approaching that. He blinked back tears.

But it was not only being offered his ultimate honor that stunned Heyes. It was the knowledge that he had no time at all to figure out some rational grounds for refusing it.

Heyes had not yet heard anything from the Territorial Governor of Wyoming. He could be summoned away to the West at any moment to stand trial. Were he to act as valedictorian, he could be escorted from the stage of the convocation in handcuffs. And most particularly, he could not accept any such honor under any name except that of Hannibal Heyes. Which name he could not reveal to the Dean now – and might not ever be able to.

"I thank you very much, sir, but . . . I cannot accept that honor," said Heyes in a low voice barely more than a whisper, bowing his head.

"Smith, I know all about your aphasia," said the Dean, in comforting tones, "You must surely know that the valedictorian of Columbia College, despite the title, does not have to speak. He, well, he just shakes hands with people. That's all that's required. The number two honor – the Salutatorian – is the one who has the work of speaking."

"That isn't it, sir," said Heyes very quietly, looking into the dean's shocked grey eyes.

The rotund dean was not angry – merely completely baffled and worried, "Then what in God's name is it, Smith? There is no precedent for this! No one has ever refused this honor before! There just isn't any reason to! It doesn't demand anything of you at all."

Heyes looked down and said even more quietly, "Sir, it demands the truth, does it not?" He was not proud of himself at all at this moment.

"Of course, Mr. Smith," answered the dean with dignity.

Heyes kept his voice absolutely level, "Well, this is as much of the truth as I can tell you. You are offering this honor to Joshua Smith. That is not my name."

"What!?" The dean was shocked and perplexed, but still the man was not angry and he did not attack this mysterious student. He merely asked, "If Smith isn't your name, what is your name?"

"I can't tell you that," said Heyes in a monotone.

"Are you the man who earned Joshua Smith's string of academic honors?" inquired the dean.

"Yes, sir. I am," said Heyes without a trace of pride.

The dean was bending over backwards to be understanding, "Then we'll change the name on the diploma to whatever your real name is. That needn't be a problem."

"But it is a problem – because I can't tell you the name that needs to go on the diploma," said Heyes sadly.

The dean remained an exceptionally fair man who was simply trying to understand the situation and make it as right as he possibly could. "Why in heaven's name not?"

But the recalcitrant student refused to make any accommodation possible. "I can't tell you that, Dean. There will be a moment when I can tell you – probably - but it hasn't come yet. I've been waiting for more than six years for that permission and I don't have it yet. I might never get it."

"From whom do you have to get this permission?" asked the dean with commendable patience.

Heyes understood acutely the trouble he was causing, but it didn't change the need for secrecy, "I'm sorry to say that I can't tell you that, either. Only to tell you that's it's from four men – all of them higher ranking than anyone at this University. I would be breaking my word to them, and to a number of other people whom I value, if I told you anything further. I can only say that it is, literally, a matter of life or death. That is all that I can or will say on the matter."

The dean began to see a tiny glimmer of light in this otherwise obscure situation, "So you are refusing this singular honor in order to protect someone's life?"

Heyes nodded, realizing that, with this honorable dean, this revelation would provide him with the means to avoid making any others, "Yes, sir. More lives than one."

"I assume that you cannot tell me whose lives?" The dean said with no hope that "Smith," would contradict him.

"No, sir. I cannot."

The dean stopped and thought for a moment. Then he said, "In that case, I cannot possibly ask more of you, sir, whoever you really are. I salute you for acting with as much honor as any valedictorian ever could." He stood to shake Heyes' hand again, this time in solemn respect.

But Heyes refused the dean's hand. He put his head in his hands with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes and looked at the dean. "I'm the biggest rat ever born, Dean. I cannot hide self-interest behind the veil of honor. One of those lives is my own."

"Do you really think that honor demands your death!" the dean proclaimed, horrified, "You have the right to live, S . . . whatever you name is. And so does whoever else you are protecting – or at least, I trust that he or she does."

"I am convinced of that, sir. Since you seem to believe in me, I sincerely hope that within a year I will be able to explain all of this to you. You might even laugh when you learn the truth, dean. But it isn't funny to me."

The dean smiled with extraordinary understanding, "I suppose not - well I guess I must continue to call you Smith. Regrettably, it sounds as if we will be unable to graduate you at all – this year. When you can give us your real name, we will very gladly put it on what by then should be two diplomas and give them to you with the high honors that you have rightfully earned. Good luck."

Heyes shook the dean's ample hand. "Thank you very much, sir. I deeply appreciate your understanding. I apologize for having to refuse the honor you have offered me. Were the situation anything other than what it is, I would accept it as easily the greatest honor of my life.

But I believe you have someone else waiting out front who can and will accept the honor, and who is totally worth of it, as I cannot be. I must ask that you not share what I have told you with anyone except the President of this University and Professor Charles Homer. And I must ask that all of you promise not to share this with anyone whatsoever." Heyes did not dare to say, "Even with the police." Even for this most understanding of deans, that would make it very obvious that he was promising more than he could or should.

He dean nodded. "I will comply with that request. I wish I knew why, but if human life is at stake, that is enough for me."

Heyes turned on his heel and left, as the dean stood and watched him in puzzlement and respect. Heyes looked past Paul Huxtable who sat in the outer office waiting to accept the honor that his friend had just refused. Huxtable looked after the grave, silently retreating figure of his friend, desperately wondering what had just gone on in the office he was about to enter. The tangle of mysteries surrounding the man he knew as Joshua Smith only got denser and darker as time went by.

The secretary, having no idea of what had just gone on in the next room, now called Huxtable in.

"Mr. Huxtable," asked the dean, "How well do you know Joshua Smith?"

"Very well, sir." Said Huxtable. "But there is an awful lot I don't know about him."

"Do you know what's worrying him?" asked the dean.

"Not really." Huxtable was taken aback, "Well a little of it . . ." What might the dean ask of him – and how much could he say - or refuse to say?

The dean held up a restraining hand. "Don't tell me anything! Not a word. I only want him to be safe. I don't ask you to reveal anything to me, but I do ask that you and your mutual friends please watch that man's back as much as you can."

"Yes, sir," said Paul Huxtable, "We always do. And he watches ours."


	36. Chapter 36

Heyes sat in his advisor's office with his head in his hands. He gave a soft sniff that he hoped Homer hadn't heard – it was embarrassing to be so obviously upset. "God, how I wish those governors would come across with the amnesty! The dean of Columbia College is bending over backwards to be good to me, but I'm still backed into a corner. What can I do, Charlie? How am I ever gonna explain it to Neal George and Huxtable and Carter, and all the other guys, why I can't graduate with them? Why I might never be able to graduate?"

Homer sat looking with compassion at his star student, who also happened to be a notorious wanted outlaw. He felt pretty low about the situation himself, but Homer clapped Heyes on the back, "Buck up, there Heyes! You ever think of trying on your friends the same thing you tried on Dean Hager? What about as much of the truth as you can?"

Heyes ducked the question, "Hager sure is a great guy – just like you told me he was. I sure wish I could keep having him as my dean when I start grad school, but of course I've got to go over to the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. I trust Dean Hager more than I ever thought I could trust an . . . administrator." The former outlaw had to struggle with that unaccustomed word just at the moment he least needed to have his aphasia remind him of its presence.

Homer countered, as comfortingly as he could, "Your friends are pretty great guys, too. And you can trust them."

"But they're so . . . well, young!" said Heyes in frustration.

Homer could not resist smiling at the thought of a formerly dangerous outlaw's doubting the trustworthiness of these top ranking college students. "I think you've got some pretty trustworthy friends, Heyes! Neal George is older than you are. Carter's got a lot of good sense – more than certain veteran outlaws I could name! And Huxtable, the one I'd worry most about, already knows you're using an alias because you're wanted by the law. And he's been very responsible with that knowledge."

Heyes continued to find objections, "So far as we know, he has. How do we know? Well, maybe I can figure out something that I can tell my friends – but what about Clarksdale and Treadwell and the guys who can't stand me? And all the other guys I don't know well enough to trust that way? I've been visible, you know, being so close to the top of the rankings almost every semester. They're going to wonder. And that could cause a lot of trouble."

"Ever think of telling them it's none of their business?" asked Homer in irritation.

"If you really want to get someone curious, try telling them that!" snorted Heyes.

Homer had to admit defeat on that one, so he cannily changed the terms of the debate, "Come on, Heyes! You are, as you kept reminding me on our trip to Montana, a professional at this! I always heard you were one of the great liars in the West. Why can't you come up with a simple one for this? Whatever happened to Hannibal Heyes with the silver tongue?"

"Bullet in the head!" said Heyes with bitter brevity.

Homer winced. "Sorry, Heyes. But does it really make a difference when it comes to lying?"

Heyes nodded dejectedly, "Yeah, it does. I can't . . . improvise the way I used to. You've never heard the real Heyes line of patter - and you never will. It's gone for good. I used to be able to talk the birds out of the trees, some days. Never again."

Homer looked sadly at Heyes. He guessed it was true. The real legendary Heyes the slick talker had died in the Colorado mountains four and half years before. Homer could only imagine what his still remarkably brilliant friend and student must have been like before that shattering injury. Considering how well Heyes still spoke in class, how great would he have been if he still had all of his old gifts? Homer tried to find a more cheerful message to give Heyes, "Might be a good thing that old Heyes tongue is gone. Sounds like it was a pretty dangerous weapon."

Heyes gave his advisor a lop-sided, ironic grin, "It was, but it used to make this kind of thing easier. A whole lot easier!"

"This kind of thing! Graduating from college was one thing you never managed to do with your silver tongue," Homer reminded his student.

"You might a' noticed, Professor, I can't manage it now, either!" Heyes joked miserably.

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As he walked slowly toward the hall for the graduation ceremony, Heyes saw his friends coming along from the dorm buildings across the street, walking proudly in their robes, among many other undergraduates with groups of friends and family. "Smith!" called Carter anxiously, "Why aren't you wearing your robes?"

Heyes crossed the street to meet his friends. He looked determinedly at the sidewalk until he was close enough that he didn't have to yell. As he came level with his friends he said softly, without looking up, "Because I'm not graduating."

"What?! We all thought you'd be valedictorian, or salutatorian anyway!" Ev was stunned, as was NG. But Huxtable's young face showed a slowly dawning understanding.

"Huxtable, what do you know that we don't know?" asked the perspicacious Neal George.

"I'm not sure," said Huxtable, keeping his voice low.

The trio of friends looked at Heyes, "What about it?" asked Ev almost angrily.

Heyes sighed heavily. "I can't tell you about it here, guys. I really can't tell you much and what I could say is . . . private. Real private. So you just go and I'll tell you later."

Ev looked around, and not seeing any of their rivals, he said, "Look Smith, if you can talk fast, we could just duck into my dorm room for a minute. You got me awful curious. And awful sorry about whatever it is."

"Thanks," said Heyes.

The group convened in Ev's tiny, sparsely furnished room, "Alright, Smith, what is it?" demanded Everett Carter.

Heyes took a deep breath, more to signal to his friends the importance of what he was about to say than because he needed any preparation for saying it as he might have done sooner after his head injury. "So you promise not to tell anyone?" They all nodded, "I can't graduate because the diploma would say Joshua Smith. That's not my name."

Heyes' three friends nodded casually, "We'd figured that," said Neal George. "So what is your name?"

Heyes was surprised, but not shocked, "You figured that?! Well, then you ought to be able to figure that I can't tell you."

"This is us, friend!"exclaimed Ev Carter, "You really can't tell us?"

"I really can't tell you. It isn't just my life at stake." Heyes met each of his friends' gazes in turn.

"Life? Are you serious?!" Ev asked anxiously.

Heyes' voice was dull and flat, "Never more serious in my life. Come on, Huxtable's been pretty quiet. He said you'd all guessed . . ."

"Guessed what?" ask NG looking from Huxtable to Smith and back again."

"I'm wanted by the law, guys." Carter and Neal George gasped. They had thought this might be so – but they hadn't really known.

"Wow! Wanted?" asked Ev, "for what?"

"Armed robbery," said Heyes briefly, speaking slowly and softly, "and a few other things . . . I can't tell you about it. I really can't."

Neal asked, "You're a real western outlaw?"

Heyes snorted a brief laugh, "Yeah. Nothing glamorous about it, guys! Just dirty, dirty, dirty. But don't worry. I went straight a long time ago. I sure never would hurt you. I'm even hoping for amnesty. Governor keeps saying maybe, but it hasn't happened yet. Please be careful what you say! Can't let it get around."

"But what did you tell the dean?" asked Huxtable, "How'd you explain that you can't accept the diploma?"

Heyes said, "I didn't tell the dean I was wanted, but I did tell him my name isn't Smith. And that there are lives at stake. That was enough."

Ev, ever curious, asked, "But who's the other person whose life would be in danger? Is he also wanted?"

". . . Obviously, I can't tell you that. It's time for you guys to go. . . Congratulations, all of you! I'm going home. I better not be there for the graduation or everyone's going to ask why I'm not on stage and I can't tell them. I don't know what to say to them all. Just some . . . administrative problems – old western history – I don't know." Heyes looked at his feet and was embarrassed to be blinking back tears. He had worked so long and so hard for this day, through all his therapy and tutoring and school, and now . . .

"We got to go, but I'm real sorry, Smith," said Huxtable, "We all know you're a great student and you deserve that diploma at least as much we do ours! Right guys?"

"Right!" agreed NG and Ev almost in unison. Heyes shook the hand of each of his friends as they walked out.

"Thanks! I . . . appreciate it. And . . . congratulations! You sure all deserve to be real proud." Heyes managed to choke out. He slunk back toward his rented room feeling low. He wished that he could be at the graduation ceremony to cheer for his friends, but he just couldn't do it.

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When Heyes got back to his room, he found Beth waiting for him outside the door. She was endangering her reputation, but she wanted to be there with her man when he felt his worst and needed her most. Heyes smiled sadly and silently let Beth in.

"You shouldn't be here, darling," he said, as he kissed her.

"But I have to," answered Beth, kissing his back. "I can't let you sit and forget that I love you."

"Oh honey," choked out Heyes. "After all that work . . . All those years . . ." Now the tears that he had been fighting all day broke out at last, while Beth put her arms around him and made sure that he knew that she meant what she had said.

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A letter was waiting even then in Heyes' mail box at the post office. It was written on anonymous white stationary with no official seal or full names or return address so that it's true origins could not be guessed except by the recipient.

"Dear Joshua Smith-

I have made your request to my Montana colleague and, much to my surprise, he has agreed to advocate what you asked. However, only the judge can actually grant such a request. I cannot tell you the date of the proceedings in question, but be prepared.

Best of luck with your academic pursuits.  
Sincerely,

F.W."

Heyes wadded up the governor's note and threw it across his room. How could he possibly concentrate on school with a trial for manslaughter hanging over him at some unknown date that could be soon or might not be soon? Be prepared? How?

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Heyes and Beth stood on the platform at Grand Central Depot, holding hands. "It'll be good to get away from school, but I wish you could be there," sighed Heyes.

"I'll be waiting here for you in three weeks, darling!" said Beth, sounding as encouraging as she could. But she remained anxious about her fiancé.

Beth went to see Charlie Homer while Heyes was on his way west. Homer was not happy about what his star student was facing, over and above the rigors of school. "Beth, he said he can't lie like he used to. You know he was legendary not just as a thief, but as a con man? His aphasia seems pretty nearly gone to me, but he moans about not being able to think on his feet the way he used to."

"Yeah, I know, Charlie," said Beth sadly, "He said that to me, too. If he was really as slick before as he says he was, he must have really been something. Do you think he could be romanticizing his past, being sorry he left it behind? Could he really have been as good as he says?"

"Maybe. The Kid sure still notices a difference, or he did last time we got to talk about it, which was a time back. I don't know about Heyes' past," speculated Homer. "But I think he's worried about his future. Do you think he might be getting cold feet about being a teaching assistant? Do you think he's scared about doing all that lecturing?"

Beth didn't answer for a moment as she thought back. Then she nodded, "Heyes said that the Kid and Lom Trevors laughed out loud at him when he said he didn't think he could argue the governor of Wyoming into anything – because he always used to be able to talk anyone into anything. Or he thought he could, anyway. I don't know Sheriff Trevors, except from what Heyes says about him, but do you really think Jed would be that mean to his partner in that tense a situation? Or could Heyes be exaggerating because he's embarrassed about his speech?"

Homer nodded, "I think you're right, Beth. I think Heyes is wishing he had his old silver tongue back, and starting to think he never will. Even though he talked the dean of Columbia into trusting him, which would have taken some doing. And I think I'm right, too – he's worrying about being a teaching assistant – and a professor. Hmn. With all he has to worry about from those four governors and a judge and jury, he doesn't need to be fretting about his aphasia. I wonder what I can do for him."

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"How's the sheriff business, Kid?" asked Heyes as the pair sat drinking their beers in privacy in the back room of Christy's Place. "I don't see a tin badge, yet!"

"Don't joke about it, Heyes! Amnesty I look forward to in a lotta ways, but not that star!" moaned Curry.

"Just as well you don't have it yet – then I won't sweat whenever I see you!" said Heyes with a grin. Being back beside his partner had cheered him up more than he had thought possible. It also helped not to have all the reminders of school around him.

"So what're you gonna do this trip?" asked the Kid. "No blowing things up this summer?"

"No, Kid. Had enough of that last time. All the M.A. thesis needs from here is equations and more equations. But this trip, I'm gonna forget about school. Gonna go riding in the pretty weather, and go on picnics, and go fishing with you, and read plays. All the things I love."

"Sounds great, Heyes," said the Kid with a grin. "Just wish I could give up apprentice-sheriffing and saloon managing long enough to join you at it. You seen this?" The Kid handed Heyes a Wyoming newspaper that Lom Trevors had sent him. It said, "Statehood Approaching for Wyoming."

"Oh, shit!" said Heyes, "That's the last thing we need! A brand new state with a brand new governor – elected instead of appointed. Have to start all over again with a new man!"

The Kid nodded, "Yeah, great for Wyoming but trouble for us."

A soft knock at the door interrupted their talk. Cat step quietly into the back and put her finger to her lips, "Wilde sent me a message. An old bounty hunter named Carson just turned up in his office saying he has word on a pair of pretty big outlaws seen here abouts. Wilde thinks it might be you two, but Carson is being cagey and just hinting right now. He says Carson came from Denver way. Wilde'll keep the old boy busy in the office as long as he can . . ."

"I've heard of him! We're out the back way, love," said the Kid in a tense whisper, giving Cat a quick kiss. "We'll head up north where we can hide in the woods for a while. Be sure to send a message to Lom when you can do it without being obvious. And again when the coast is clear."

"Yes, honey!" said Cat, "I know the drill!"

"See you as soon as we can, Cat," said Heyes with a wink and a smile as he grabbed his old black hat off the hook. His addiction to thrills seemed to be back – Cat thought Heyes was enjoying the sudden approach of possible danger.

The Kid kept a ready-packed pair of saddle bags and a bed roll in a closet by the door, and when Heyes was in town, so did he. So once they had both filled canteens from the pump, the partners picked up their going on the run supplies. Then the pair crept cautiously over to the hotel's stable to saddle up their horses.

"Be careful!" whispered Cat to herself as much as to the boys as they led their horses out very quietly and then rode away north a few minutes later. Heyes might enjoy danger, but Cat Christy never would enjoy threats to the safety of her man and his partner. She had lost too many loved ones in the past.


	37. Chapter 37

Having just heard that a bounty hunter was cooling his heels in the sheriff's office, Curry took the lead as he and Heyes rode quietly down a back alley and out of Louisville from the road farthest from trouble. The Kid looked back to catch his partner's eyes – the darker outlaw had normally taken the lead in the past. But Heyes silently nodded and waved his blonde partner on. It had been too long since Heyes had been actively fleeing bounty hunters and posses for him to take the lead and they both knew it. It was Curry who knew this country thoroughly now. Heyes put on his glasses surreptitiously before the pair sped up the pace. The Kid knew better than to comment. The last time they had fled like this, with Heyes wearing his new glasses, Curry had laughed at Heyes about it. The Kid had wound up later in that adventure nearly killing his partner. It was not an occasion that either man liked to remember.

Wanting to look like ordinary travelers, the pair went at a gentle lope until they were well out of town. They saw only a few riders and wagons in and near town and almost no one took any notice of them. The lone exception was a local rancher driving a wagon. The rancher waved familiarly at the men he knew as saloon-keeper and sometime sheriff's deputy Thaddeus Jones and his friend from the East. It felt strange for the boys to casually return a friendly wave as they fled for their lives.

Soon the pair was riding into the mountains under aspens and tall pines, spotted sunlight and shadow playing over them on this beautiful late spring afternoon. It was just cool enough to be very pleasant riding weather, but not cold enough to require a jacket. Heyes at first looked around him anxiously in search of signs of pursuit, while the Kid's careful monitoring of their surrounding was less obvious. But they heard nothing but the occasional foraging elk and saw no human or horse as they put distance between themselves and Louisville.

Heyes began to relax and enjoy the beauty of the Colorado mountains. Bright wildflowers bloomed among the underbrush and puffy white clouds meandered across the blue sky. About two hours out Heyes tensed and hissed very softly for the Kid to look back at him. He pointed down the mountain side to where a pair of large four legged animals – presumably horses - could faintly be heard walking along the trail where the pair of outlaws had been riding not long before. Curry smiled at Heyes and said softly, "Cavanaugh."

"How do you know?" asked Heyes in a low tone as soft as a whisper but less likely to be overheard. "Can't see him in all that brush."

Curry raised his head slightly, "Hear that tiny metal clink? That's Bedford – Cavanaugh's pack mule. Forges just a little now and then in steep places – hits his near front shoe with his off hind. Cavanaugh keeps saying he'll get the farrier to fix it with shoeing, but you know how he hates to go to town." Heyes smiled. His partner was one canny man, and now that Heyes was out of practice at this kind of thing, he appreciated the Kid's gifts even more.

Having seen no sign of pursuit, the pair stopped and made camp in a sheltered spot as the sun was getting low. Heyes staked out the horses in a convenient little mountain meadow where they could graze all night. Many men might have hobbled them – but not men who might have to mount up in a hurry and ride away to save their lives.

Meanwhile, the Kid made a small fire. While it was still light enough to see, both men gathered firewood and green boughs to sleep on. Heyes found a nice patch of onion grass that would go well with the beans, and some mint they could chew on after dinner. It was certainly a whole lot nicer a situation than the last time the pair had made camp in the wilds of Colorado, when Heyes had been half dead of pneumonia.

The pair sat by the fire and ate while the sun set behind the mountains. The Kid asked, "Heyes, what's that stupid grin doing on your face?"

"I beg your pardon!" answered Heyes with mock dignity, "I happen to be a brilliant graduate student. I am not stupid."

"Then why are you sitting next to a snake?" asked the Kid with a straight face.

Heyes started up just a few inches before he realized that he'd been had – again. The pair began to laugh.

"Since you just let me get you on the snake thing for about the fifteenth time, allow me to restate my question," said the Kid when he could stop laughing enough to get the words out, "why the idiotic grin, Heyes?"

"I'd just forgotten what a good time we used to have, running for our lives," said Heyes, still grinning. "Sometimes school and the city seem about as dangerous, and these days at least, not half as much fun. Sure has been a pretty day."

"You are an idiot!" laughed Curry, "Here we are running from our lives from one of the most unpredictable, least principled, most ruthless bounty hunters in about four states, and you sit there claiming that your having fun."

Now Heyes looked more serious. "Is he really that bad? I'd heard of Floyd Carson, of course. He was on our tails that one time outside of Butte, but not for long and never even got close enough to see him. I just heard he generally got his man. But then, it's been a few years since I kept up on Colorado bounty hunters."

"Yeah, bounty hunters like Carson are just part of what Wilde is teaching me. I been studying all kinds of sheriff stuff." Curry put up his hand to stop the inevitable tease that his phrasing was inviting, "Yeah, studying, Joshua Smith. To be an apprentice sheriff, you got to study. Sheriffs need to know a lot of stuff and it takes work to get up on it all, and keep up on it. Wilde knows a lot and he's trying to teach me."

"Hmph! And I thought you law men just sat around with your feet on your desks and snored until some hard-working outlaw gave you reason to go outside," sneered Heyes with a chuckle. "So what are you studying, if I may ask?"

Curry rolled his eyes, "All those outlaw flyers! And the sheriffs in surrounding counties. And all the crime news in the newspapers in this and all states around. And telegrams from sheriffs and judges. And you got to know all the local bar keeps, and pawn shops, and gun smiths, and lock smiths, and livery stables, and . . ."

"Enough!" Heyes put a hand up to stop his partner's recitation, "If you keep going, I might just develop a respect for sheriffs. We can't have that."

"But you stopped me before I got to the really hard stuff," said Curry, sounding more serious.

"Alright, I'll bite. What's the hard stuff?" Heyes put the last bite of beans into his mouth to eat while he listened to what his partner had to say.

"The letter of the law! I got to know every word of every damn criminal statute in this state and this county and a bunch of other places. Why, did you know, Heyes, that the minute we left Texas after the Fort Worth job, we officially became fugitives and that the statute of limitations on our crimes went on hold – what they call tolled?"

Heyes swallowed the last of his beans, "Yeah, Kid, I did. How close are you to having the statute of limitations run out on the Denver job?"

Curry stopped and swallowed his own beans. "Why, I don't know. I haven't added it up. Can't be long before we're safe on that one."

Heyes looked resentfully at his partner, "You mean before you're safe. I don't live in the state - remember? You always were selfish about the legal stuff."

"I beg your pardon!" answered the Kid.

"What's that noise? Somebody down there?" hissed Heyes. Curry threw himself flat in the dust, before he heard Heyes laughing at him. "Got you, sheriff!" said Heyes.

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The next morning the retired outlaws were up before the sun to eat a hurried breakfast. The Kid hesitantly said to his partner, "Uh, Heyes, I know you're gonna be teaching come fall. . ."

"Assistant teaching – not really the same thing. But yeah, Kid. What about it?" Heyes took a swallow of coffee and grimaced. He hated to admit how bad his coffee was, but it was little hard to hide from its bitterness this morning.

Curry ducked his head self-consciously, "Well, um, Heyes, would you maybe help me with how to do my law studies? There's all this awful law language that I can't make heads or tails of. Makes it the very devil to remember. Wilde understands the stuff alright, I think. But he's not the world's great teacher, if you know what I mean. He's not real strong on the Latin stuff. And he doesn't know how to help me know how to use all the letter of the law in the street."

Heyes tilted his head as he considered the problem, "Hmn. Applied law – like my applied math. Sure, Kid, I can help you find some ways to deal with it. You just show me some pages and I'll help you get the language and give you some strategies for studying. I'm afraid the best advice I can give you is to work hard. Study no more of it than you can cope with at once, then go back every day – every single day, and review. Review and review and review. Review every darned thing you've covered and every day add a little more. It gets faster as you go, but it does take time. Get someone – like Cat, maybe – to quiz you. I wish there was a good lawyer around here to help you out with the legal terms, but I don't guess we could trust him even if there was."

The Kid looked a bit bleak. He knew that Heyes worked hard at his studies, but himself he hated to spend time over a book when he could working at the saloon or playing poke or being with Cat or riding in the mountains. "Is that really what you do every single day?"

Heyes nodded, "Well, not today. But yes, usually it is. Every single day. For every single class. And all the languages. That's how I stay on top of it. Learning is hard work. Somebody ought to write a book on that."

Curry looked at his partner with respect. "Maybe you will, Heyes. Thanks for the advice. I guess we better get riding."

It was another beautiful day in the woods, riding ever farther north and encountering not a human being but themselves. As the afternoon went on, it began to get a bit warm and the boys began to get a bit hungry and a bit less worried about the pursuit that had never come. They came across a sparkling mountain stream playing along beside the path. Inspiration struck and they stopped. Heyes found and cut a couple of flexible green sticks to use as fishing poles while Curry scouted the area and staked out the horses where they could forage. Then the pair settled in the fish for dinner. It wasn't too long before the Kid hooked cutthroat trout.

Just as the boys were settling in to fishing they heard what sounded like several horses coming, and this wasn't Heyes having a joke. The two men fell utterly quiet and stayed low. The Kid drew his Colt and wriggled on his belly to look over the edge of the little valley and see who was coming into the clearing just over the little ridge. He motioned for Heyes to come up behind a nearby bush that also gave a view into the clearing.

A pair of buckskin clad men rode into the clearing with a pack mule behind them loaded with furs. The Kid stood up slowly and showed his pistol. He shouted, "Hands up, boys!"

The newly arrived pair had seemed to know that someone was near, but they complied easily enough. "Sure thing, Mister!" said a bearded black haired young man in very backcountry accents. "We don't mean no harm."

"We ain't got nothing for to steal but some furs, but you's welcome to them, if you leave us our lives," said his older blonde friend who was also heavily bearded. The newly arrived men were obviously backcountry trappers.

"We aren't holding you up, boys," said the Kid. "Just didn't want you to hold us up. Partner, you want to go and get their rifles for a little extra insurance?"

"Sure thing, boss!" said Heyes in the country accent he enjoyed assuming when he didn't want locals to take him too seriously.

Soon the four were sitting by the side of the stream together, using the last good hour of the afternoon to catch more fish. "Sure is nice to run into you guys," said the black haired younger trapper, Hank.

"Yeah, we been in the back country since winter getting furs," added his friend Mike. "It's right pleasant to have some company other than each other. Anything interesting happening out there in the big world while we been away?"

"Not last I heard, not much," said Heyes. "Wyoming Territory'll be a state any day, seems like."

Mike looked up, "Is that a fact? Ain't many territories. Won't be so good trapping out here much longer, I'm thinking, with folks all coming in to settle" said Mike. The rest of the men nodded. It was a fact of life out west – more people came in all the time.

It was very pleasant to have two extra faces around the camp fire and eat fat trout with. The trappers were nice, easy-going guys. And they had two extra sharp pairs of ears trained to listen for trouble. In the morning the newcomers rode south to take their furs into one of the local towns. Curry and Heyes decided to go with them. The trappers hadn't asked what had brought two guys out so far in the woods – they understood that a man's business is his own and they weren't inclined to inquire further. Therefore, they made good company for a pair of men who preferred to keep their business private. The four rode into the tiny town of Walter. "I always did like towns with first names!" proclaimed Heyes, which made everyone laugh.

While the trappers dickered over fur prices with the local store keeper, Heyes and Curry dropped into the telegraph office. They told Wilde, in code, where they were and asked for news. Wilde relayed that Carson had ridden off north, not particularly on the boys' heels, but too close to their route for them to relax completely just yet. He might be trying to lull them into a false sense of security, so the boys did not dare to head home quite yet. But they were glad that their visit to Walter offered them a chance to take baths. And while they were in the little town, Heyes spotted some very innocent looking poker players he just had to try to fleece, despite the Kid's skepticism.

As they played, Heyes listened to the conversations in the little saloon. A strapping young miner dropped into the game. As soon as he had won a hand, he asked, "Anybody seen Carson the bounty hunter?"

He was met by a chorus of "nope," including from the seemingly innocent lips of Smith and Jones. But the local barber, sitting at Heyes' right said, "I ain't seen him, but I heard he was hunting some pair of outlaws not too far south of here. Rumor don't say who they were, but big names seems like. Big prices. Friend of mine said Carson figured to retire on 'em when he rounds 'em up."

"What, you folks have big time outlaws here abouts? I never heard of it," said Heyes.

"The Teasdales rode through a couple of years ago," said the barber, "and they did say as Heyes and Curry their own selves were seen back about 82 or 83, but nobody that big lately. We just don't have enough money around here to attract the big boys, I'm guessing. No big mines or railroads or big banks here. Little lumbering, little fur trapping, little hunting. I mean, if you were big time outlaws, would you come to Walter?"

"Guess not," said Heyes. "So don't know who this Carson might be hunting."

That was enough for the Kid. He caught his partner's eye and soon the pair had bowed out of the game, although with a tidy profit. They headed out back to the woods to camp for the night, though not without a fond glance behind them at the comforts of the little hotel in Walter.

Sure enough, not long after Heyes and Curry had mounted back up the next morning, they heard a horseman on the trail far behind them. They withdrew off the trail far back into the woods and fell utterly quiet. They had their pistols drawn. Heyes and Curry were riding their favorite horses, Clay and Blackie, so they knew that their horses would not betray them as Curry's second choice of mount had when the Teasdales had pursued them. Before long a horse appeared on the trail – far enough away so that they could scarcely see him through the dense woods. He appeared to be grey-haired man on a tall chestnut horse. Heyes looked a question at Curry, who nodded almost imperceptibly. They both agreed that this was probably Floyd Carson the bounty hunter.

Then they heard sounds that outlaws dreaded perhaps more than any other – a whistle from Carson and the answering whines of hounds – tracking hounds. If Carson had any object carrying the scent of Heyes or Curry, the hounds would inevitably find them – unless the pursued men gave away their location by shooting every hound. The bounty hunter paused on the trail and they heard him say something to the hounds. The two outlaw fugitives looked at each other with wide eyes and sweating brows – were the hounds about to be set on their trail?

The tell-tale baying of the hounds broke out loudly. The hunting hounds eagerly leapt forward, with Carson spurring his horse to keep up. They were going north up the trail – beyond where the pair of outlaws watching had yet gotten. Whoever Carson was chasing, it wasn't Heyes and Curry. That would not, however, keep him from encountering them if they weren't careful. They waited silently until Carson and his hounds vanished into the distance.

Then the pair turned and rode back south as fast as they could safely go over the rough trail, Heyes urging his horse with his rein ends of he always did when asking for speed. They had to get as far as possible away from that bounty hunter and his hounds. As they approached the town of Walter, Heyes and Curry slowed their ride and walked out their horses. They went to the telegraph office again and sent a brief coded message to Wilde and another to Lom Trevors about Carson and his hounds heading north after outlaws. Soon, they heard back from Wilde – urging them to come back to Louisville. On the trail was the worst place for them if a tracker was out there with dogs. They agreed with him.

Two days later, Curry and Heyes were cautiously riding back into Louisville. They put their tired horses away and snuck in the back way at Christy's Place. Cat was there to greet them. "Oh, Kid! We've been so worried about you boys." The Kid gave his fiancé a long kiss before he answered.

Curry freed his lips and whispered, "We're alright, honey! That Carson never was after us, you know. He and his hounds were on the trail of some other poor pair of outlaws. I pity them is all I can say!"

"Hounds! I didn't know he had hounds!" Cat was frightened to hear this news.

"Yeah – didn't know until we saw them – and heard them bay'n!" said Heyes. "Don't meet with them often out here – thank God!"

It was only a day later that the baying of hounds sounded in the streets of Louisville as Carson returned with two outlaws tied on their horses. It was a pair the boys had heard of, but never met – Loomis and Fielder, from North Dakota. The pair looked badly bitten and shaken up by their encounter with the hounds. Loomis and Fielder would be hauled off to justice on the train in a few days, when some lawmen from North Dakota could come and claim the fugitives. But having that man and his dogs in town was too much for the partners at Christy's place. Even though Carson had never seen them, they were too easy to spot together. The Kid wasn't easy to identify unless he drew, but with Heyes and the Kid appearing side by side it was possible that the bounty hunter might put one and one together.

So that night Heyes said to Cat as they all three sat around the back table, "I'm out of here early tomorrow, Cat. Sorry not to get much chance to see you, but you know how it is . . ."

And she did. "Yes, Heyes. An outlaw's lot is pretty tough sometimes. It's a real shame you didn't get the vacation you wanted. Nothing but pressure even here!"

Heyes shrugged. Riding with the Kid again had had its compensations.

"We'll miss you until Christmas. Hope Miss Beth can come out with you then," said Cat.

"Yeah, the holidays wouldn't seem right without we can have all four of us together," said the Kid.

"I hope we can," said Heyes. "Might be our last together in a long time if I get a job some place far away. I sure wish I could find something near here."

Heyes rode out before dawn with the Kid and Wilde by his side. If the hounds got onto Heyes, he could be torn to bits in minutes if he didn't have some help. His cohorts stayed at his side until he got to the outskirts of Boulder.

As they reached a ridge outside of town, Heyes said, "I guess you boys – pardon me, you sheriffs – can take off. I think I'm safe enough from here. I'm obliged to you both. Never thought I'd have a sheriff watching my back – much less two of them!" He winked at the Kid.

"So long, Heyes," said Wilde. "Sorry you've had such a tough time in Louisville."

"See you at Christmas, Heyes!" said the Kid. "You study hard 'till then, alright? And teach real well – make us proud!"

"I'll do my best," grinned Heyes. "Same back to you guys! It sure will be weird to have a sheriff in the family, if you'll pardon me, Wilde."

"I guess it would, at that," said the lawman. "While I got to admit to having an outlaw or two in my family already."

Heyes turned Clay's head down into town. "Don't you wait too long to come and get Clay out of the livery stable here, Jed!" he called behind him, "You know how he gets lonesome without Blackie!"

"Adios!" called the Kid, waving his hat after his departing partner.

As Heyes boarded the train east and watched the west sliding past the windows, his brief time riding with the Kid faded away like a dream. His worries about school, which had seemed so far away, settled back on him. He added them to his legal concerns. With all this looming, he hoped he could somehow, with the help of his friends, hold it all together for one more summer and one more year. In some ways the prospect seemed like an eternity, and in some ways like all too brief a time.


	38. Chapter 38

As soon as he was off of the train, with his saddle bags still over his shoulder, Heyes went to see Beth at the Leutze clinic. He walked down the crowded sidewalks in the afternoon heat. There had been no safe opportunity to wire Beth, or anyone, that he was coming back early, or that he had had any reason to do so. Heyes clattered up the stairs and almost ran into Jim as he hurried down the hall.

"Joshua!" cried Heyes' former roommate. "You're here! You're safe! Beth got a t-telegraph from C-Cat and she said a bou. . ."

Heyes put his finger to his lips and interrupted Jim sharply, speaking quietly even though the hall of the clinic was empty except for the pair of them, "Keep your voice down, Jim! I'm fine, but I won't be if the wrong person hears you! Thaddeus is fine, too."

Jim clapped his friend on the back, saying "Thank God!"

An office door opened and Beth, having heard her lover's voice, raced out and into Heyes' waiting arms. "Oh honey!" she breathed. Heyes' only answer was a long, deep, passionate kiss.

While the two were in each other's arms, Dr. Leutze appeared. A smile broke out on his face as he saw his former student, safe and sound. Heyes looked up from kissing his sweetheart and smiled to see his mentor looking so very glad to see him. The doctor exclaimed, "Oh, thank God! You've come home!" He reached out and took Heyes' hand.

Heyes smiled around at all of his friends, embarrassed to be so warmly greeted by so many people who cared about him. "Thanks!" he said self-consciously, "It surely is good to be home – and to see you all." Beth took special note – if Heyes had said anything about home before, it had always been in Colorado. That New York, where he had his girl and his other friends, could also be a kind of home for Heyes made Beth happy. She beckoned Heyes, Jim, and the doctor into her office. It was crowded in the little space, but there they could speak more openly.

Heyes told them, "Sorry I didn't have a chance to wire you all that I was coming. That bounty hunter that I guess Cat sent you the telegraph about was back in town and I had to get out fast. Cat didn't dare go to the telegraph office with that guy around, so it's too bad you didn't know that the Kid and I both got away safe. The Kid and I were pretty scared when that bounty hunter with those hounds showed up! The Kid knows about him, and his reputation's not real good. He'll kill an outlaw soon as look at him! We were mighty glad to realize that the man wasn't after us personally. He got two other poor unfortunate outlaws. I'm just glad to be out of there! It was getting way too hot for comfort and I don't mean the weather!"

The doctor spoke for the little group, "We're glad to have you safe, Heyes! I must say that I hope you two get that amnesty soon. We get very anxious about you sometimes."

"Me, too!" admitted Heyes. "Gosh, nobody but us ever cared before!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Hey, Smith!" called Everett Carter down the hall of Columbia University, "Didn't think you'd be back until next week!" When he saw his western friend discretely shaking his head, Carter quieted down. Now that he was more aware of Smith's legal problems, he realized that he needed to be careful or he could make those problems worse. It was only when they got very close together and made sure that no one else was around that Carter dared to ask, much more quietly, "So what brought you back early?"

"Not here," Heyes whispered, looking around cautiously. Since there were no summer classes yet, they were free to go back to Carter's dorm room – the same place where Heyes had first shared his wanted status with his friends that spring. Heyes was just as glad not to meet Neal George or Huxtable or any other friends on the way – this conversation was going to be complex enough with just one person to tell his unsettling news to. Even without knowing the actual name, Ev was starting to know enough to make him squirm. Heyes tried to make sure that his friends thought his past was as just an ordinary sort of crook. He had no desire to share his infamy with them a minute before he had to.

When they got to Carter's Spartan little room, the young man looked uneasily at Smith, and then looked away. The two spoke standing a couple of steps apart, side by side, not looking into each other's eyes. It was the way men so often speak, but in Ev's room they had no bar to lean on as Heyes often had out West. For the Kid and Lom Trevors and so many men that Heyes knew well, what he had to say was routine stuff. For his friend Everett Carter, a graduate math student from Long Island, Heyes guessed that it would be anything but routine.

Heyes waited for his younger friend to take the lead, and he did, asking, "So, Smith – or whatever your name really is – what happened?

"&%^$^ bounty hunter," griped Heyes. "Had hounds. I had to get out of there fast."

"Gosh! Sounds terrifying!" said Carter with a startled gulp. He hadn't really thought about the severe drawbacks of being wanted.

Heyes shrugged and spoke very softly, "Well, I don't take to being tracked with hounds, I'll admit. He was on somebody else's trail, but he would have gone for me fast enough if he'd known I was there. Other than the hounds, it wasn't anything I haven't dealt with a hundred times or more."

"I hope you're exaggerating!" Ev almost laughed.

Heyes shook his head regretfully, "No, 'fraid not. A hundred is probably not too far off the number of time's I've been trailed by bounty hunters, sheriffs, posses."

"And they've never, ever caught you." Ev sounded openly skeptical.

Heyes laughed briefly, "I didn't say that! Sure I've been caught – too many times. And I've gotten away, one way or another, every time. Sometimes somebody helps out, or an understanding judge takes pity. But jail break is one of the crimes that shows up on my rap sheet. I've gotten pretty good at it."

"Wow! Remind me never to try to lock you in or out of anyplace! So you have a bounty on your head?" Even the usually confident Carter looked shaken.

Heyes nodded, "Yeah. But I'm telling you, Ev, you don't have to worry. I won't hurt you, or anybody! I won't do it!"

"But what about somebody's hurting you?" Ev asked with real concern.

Heyes shrugged again. "Goes with the territory. It happens a lot - even since . . . I went straight." Heyes only just barely stopped himself from saying, as he had so often, "we went straight." He was careful about keeping his partner's existence a secret from his college friends. He was committed to not putting the Kid in any added danger.

"If I was there . . .!" Ev was proud of his prowess with his fists.

Heyes broke in before his friend could say something too stupid, "You'd get out of the way fast – no fist is gonna stop a gun."

Ev Carter stopped and stared for a moment, then asked, in cautious awe, "You've stopped bullets?"

Heyes kept his tone casual, but could see that he was scaring his friend, "Yeah. And fired quite a few, though I don't usually hit anything. But I got to go, Ev. Charlie's got to have heard something by now and he'll be worried."

Truthfully, Heyes had exaggerated his need to talk to Professor Homer as an excuse to escape from an increasingly awkward conversation. But he did go to see his advisor. Homer was, in fact, rather startled when he heard a knock on his office door and opened it to see Hannibal Heyes standing there.

"Heyes!" Homer said before he could stop himself. Then he quickly looked out the door to make sure that he hadn't said that name when anyone was around to hear it who shouldn't. There were a couple of other students in the hall, but they were far enough away that Heyes and his advisor doubted they could have heard the name they shouldn't hear. They hadn't turned around, anyway.

Heyes went in to the sanctuary of Homer's office and sat down, like any other student, in the chair across the desk from Charlie Homer. "Well!" said Homer, "More adventures with bounty hunters, eh?"

Heyes nodded ruefully, "Yeah, Charlie. Not too bad, really – once we realized those hounds were on someone else's trail. How'd you know?"

"Cat wired Beth, and Beth told Leutze, and Leutze told Jim, and Jim came and told me. You've got quite the little network watching out for your affairs here!" Homer chuckled over the long sequence he had just relayed. He could see that it made the reformed outlaw uneasy. "And don't worry – I only told Marie! She'll be glad to know you're safe. How's the Kid?"

"He's safe, too. Without having me around making him obvious, we don't worry so much. As long as he doesn't draw, I don't think anyone would pick him out just by himself. His pretty face doesn't come across in words But that fast draw of his is kinda' distinctive, you got to admit. But the description of my face on those posters has gotten way too exact the last few years. Somebody got much too close. I wonder who it was – who betrayed us." Heyes fell silent at that. It was a troubling but old puzzle that he and the Kid had never succeeded in solving.

Homer changed the subject, "So, this fall you'll be leading a lab section for me! I'm sure you'll do real well at it. You've proven yourself as a teacher with Tom O'Keeffe."

"But it's real different with a whole section of kids, isn't it?," said Heyes sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. "Guess I'll learn as much as they do."

"I hope so!" said Homer. "That is the idea of a teaching assistant, after all. I think you have a gift for teaching – you know that. But even a gifted teacher needs lots practice in real classes. And, of course, I'll be here to answer any questions you have."

"What about how to deal with it if someone shows up to arrest me?" asked Heyes with a direct look into Homer's eyes. "You got any advice on that?"

"No," said his advisor matter-of-factly, "You know more about the legal stuff than I do. But I can help you with the classroom stuff that you'll need – both before your trial and after they find you innocent and let you off so you can teach!"

"I got my fingers crossed on that, Charlie!" said Heyes, "but if anyone's ever figured out how to predict how a jury's gonna act, nobody's ever told me."

Homer looked into his student's worried brown eyes, "It'll be alright, Heyes. I know it will. You just worry about the stuff you can control – in the classroom."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes came out of a Friday class in graduate calculus with Neal George at his side. "Whew!" said NG, wiping his brow, "Long hours in these summer sessions – 'specially when it's 90 degrees out!"

"Don't mention numbers to me – any numbers!" moaned Heyes mockingly. They both knew how he loved numbers, but even he had had a bit much in these summer classes that were more than twice as long as regular classes during the year.

The evening news boys were crying shrilly on the sidewalk "Wyoming becomes the 44th State! 44th Star on Flag Belongs to Wyoming!"

"Oh crap!" exclaimed Heyes, approaching a paper boy to buy a newspaper and learn the details.

"Huh? What do you have against Wyoming?" ask Neal curiously as his friend unfolded the paper and began to study it.

"Nothing," said, Heyes, looking up. But he knew that he couldn't just leave it there. "Oh, it's just a technicality that this is gonna make harder."

Neal whispered under his breath as they got clear of the crowd of newspaper boys and newspaper buyers, "Amnesty – that's what you mean, isn't it?" Heyes nodded. "There'll probably be a new governor, won't there?" Heyes nodded again.

"Yeah – got to start all over. Again – been quite a few new guys in the last seven years, what with deaths and resignations and presidential elections," signed Heyes. "Every time there's a new man, we got to start over."

"We?" asked Neal.

"I, um, got people in my corner. I can't tell you everything!" Heyes was obviously uncomfortable as they walked down the street and he made sure that no one got close enough to overhear them.

NG nodded. He understood, or tried to, "Well, Good luck!" he said, "How on earth do you ever manage to concentrate on school with all this other stuff going on?"

"It ain't easy!" said Heyes, "But friends are a help." He winked at NG as they parted to head to their respective rooms.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Well, congratulations, fellow grad-student!" said Huxtable to Heyes as they walked down the hall together toward their first classes of the new fall semester.

"You, too, Missouri!" said Heyes. "It's kinda nice to have that standing officially now, isn't it?"

"Yeah," agreed Huxtable, "now the grad students can't tease us in seminars and chase us out of the lounge whenever they feel like it!"

"Nobody chases me if they know what's good for them!" bristled Heyes. Being pushed around by grad students on the basis of seniority had always bothered him – especially since he had been older than almost all of them. And, of course, being chased had for years been a sore point with Heyes – but usually far from the classrooms of New York!

"You tell 'em, Kansas!" grinned Huxtable.

The new semester held a lot more for Heyes than a challenging round of graduate seminars. He met Beth at their favorite little Italian restaurant for dinner to tell her about it. As usual, they sat at sidewalk table where they could speak fairly openly as long as they kept their voices low and watched out for people walking by. Their favorite waiter, Ignacio, brought them spaghetti and a bottle of wine. Then he winked at the lovers and made sure to leave them alone for a while to eat and talk and maybe sneak a little kiss.

"If he knew what we really talk about when he's leaving us alone to smooch. . ." smiled Beth.

"Well, today it's just my first day as a teaching assistant," said Heyes.

"So, how'd it go honey?" asked Beth.

Heyes grinned. "Fine. It's a nice little group of kids. They didn't give me a hard time, though they knew it was my first day. They just had the same questions we always asked about quizzes and grading and class discussion."

"Those classes are usually so full of guys – any girls this time?" asked Beth as she twirled some strands of spaghetti around her fork.

"Yes, three girls," said Heyes as he chased down a meatball that was threatening to escape his plate.

Beth stopped eating to smile at her man, "So, did they appreciate having a very, very handsome lab instructor?"

Heyes actually blushed at that, "Well, if you mean did they giggle a lot, the answer is yes."

"No surprise there!" laughed Beth. "I don't blame them! You're pretty cute, honey! But seriously, you sure have come a long way in a short time. When I think that only five years ago, you couldn't say a word and hadn't even finished seventh grade! And now you're teaching college! You are a walking miracle, darling!"

"It's only assistant teaching," said Heyes modestly, looking down at his plate.

"You're amazing and you know it!" Beth insisted.

Heyes shrugged. "I have learned a lot – specially thanks to you! But I try not to get a big head about it. In the old days, I used to think I was really something. Strutted around the West like I owned the place. Don't know how Jed ever put up with me. Then I came out here and found out how ignorant I was. I thought I was so sophisticated, and I was just the biggest hick there ever was. So now I try to remember that I'm just a little assistant like all the other little assistants. All those PhD students and professors are way, way above me. I have a long way to go to get where I want to go."

Beth looked fondly at her man. He really had learned an awful lot, and not all of it in the classroom or even at the clinic, "Yes, but you're an awful lot closer than you were even a couple of years ago. Still, you're right. It's good to stay modest. I always think your partner's a great example that way. Great as he is – at you know what – he's so quiet and modest. No arrogance, when he sure could be arrogant if he wanted to."

Heyes snorted. "Yeah, mostly you're right. He stays quiet and tries not to attract attention. After all, it could be fatal. But you're never seen him when anyone puts him down or calls him out. He's got his pride, and heaven help the man who steps on it. Jed knows he's the best – or used to be. He's got a pretty fair temper when he's roused. Considering the number of fist fights he used to get in, I don't know how he's kept that pretty face. I sure have washed an awful of blood off it over the years!"

"Really?" This was a side of the Kid that Beth had never seen.

Heyes chuckled, "Lord, yes! Remember, it's not long ago he used to be the most famous gunman west of the Mississippi! And thank goodness he was, or my mouth would've gotten me killed a long time ago." Heyes saw alarm in Beth's face and suddenly stopped talking. He looked around to see Ignacio standing all too close behind him. Heyes had been so careful during this dinner, until just the wrong moment when the waiter had showed up. Had he heard the wrong thing? Would he do something about it?

The waiter's face showed nothing but expectation of a promptly paid bill and a nice tip, but Heyes and Beth left soon after that. And they looked behind them to see if there was any sign of Ignacio leaving the restaurant. "I don't think he heard, Heyes," said Beth, "but I can't be sure." Heyes sighed. Sometimes his existence seemed to balance on the edge of a knife – and a sharp knife at that.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days later, Heyes was back in charge of his math lab. He was helping his little group with the first homework of the semester. "So what do we do on this problem, Mr. Smith?" asked the prettiest blonde girl.

"Just solve for the . . ." and suddenly Heyes' aphasia was back. He locked up on the next word. He couldn't say it. He couldn't think it. The word was gone. He was starting to forget everything that he had been going to say. A tense, silent second went by and another and another. Heyes started to sweat. Finally he started over, "You solve for X." Then the word he had been unable to say came back to him – it was "variable" – a word he would be using dozens of times in every class.

Somehow, Heyes got through the next problem, and the next. But his usual casual, engaging manner in class was gone and he couldn't get it back as anxiety stalked him. No witty remarks came to him, no jokes, and no imaginative examples to illustrate how to use the problems. It was a grim struggle to get to the end of the class as he kept dreading locking up on another word. Every student knew that something was bothering Mr. Smith, but none of them could possibly have known what it was.

Immediately after class, Heyes went to find his advisor in his office. He was sweating freely by the time he knocked on the familiar door. When Charlie Homer saw Heyes' face, he knew that something was terribly wrong. "What is it, Joshua? Come in and tell me about it!"

Heyes just stopped and breathed for a few seconds before he could talk at all. "Charlie, the aphasia is back! I locked up in lab. There was a word I couldn't say. I mean it was gone like I'd never known it. I didn't know what to do. I was panicking and the kids knew it. I didn't say anything about it – just went on. When I could. Then, a minute later, the word was back and I was fine. But I lost it, Charlie. I was nervous the rest of class. I wasn't teaching well – just barely making it. Charlie, what do I do? What if it happens again?"

Home stared at his desperate student in shock and confusion. He had no idea what to tell Heyes, but he tried to figure it out as he went. "Well, if you go in all panicked and upset like that, it just might. You've got to relax, Heyes! You're been working so hard! You were working late last night, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was," Heyes admitted, "Past midnight. But I have work to do, Charlie! Lots of it! You know that."

Professor Homer nodded, and ran a hand through his grey hair, "I know, but you can't work if you don't get your sleep and you get all tired and panicked. Take the night off, Heyes. Go have a good time, or just read some fiction or something. Alright?"

"Well, if you really think it's . . . important, I'll try," said Heyes, "I'll try anything – to stop that from happening again. It was like having a gun to my head. Or maybe worse. I know what to do with a gun to my head. I didn't have a clue what to do just now."

"Yeah, I do think it's important," said Homer firmly, "And then go see Dr. Leutze. That's an order, Heyes. I'm just guessing at what you can do – he'll know a lot more than I do."

"He does," said the ex-outlaw, "but just talking to you makes me feel better. But tell me one thing – if it happens again – should I tell them what it is?"

Homer stopped and thought about that for a moment. "Only you can know the mood and character of your own class, Heyes. If you think they'd be sympathetic rather than using it as an excuse to go after the weakness, then you might think of telling them. And remember – you're brilliant at math and you're a brilliant teacher. Anything else is just a momentary aberration. Alright?"

"Forget brilliant! I'll settle for being able to teach at all!" said Heyes in frustration.

Heyes walked home slowly, with his hands in his pockets, mulling over his situation. He imagined that Professor Homer was right. He needed to get more sleep, and to relax some. There was no doubting that his aphasia bothered him more when he was tired and upset. But what was more tiring and upsetting than an aphasia flare up in front of his new students, who were still getting their first impressions of him?

So Heyes decided to go by his favorite book store to look for a nice novel he could lose himself in for a while. As he got to Parker's Bookshop, the tired lab assistant found several people gathered outside the store looking at something in the shop window. When he could get close enough, he saw what it was. It was a pile of copies of a new book with a poster advertising it. The poster had a picture of a blonde cowboy and a dark haired cowboy with guns drawn, firing at an approaching sheriff.

Heyes' mouth opened and shut. He was fighting the urge to yell obscenities at the top of his lungs. The title of the book everyone seemed to want was _The Adventures of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes._


	39. Chapter 39

Heyes was furious. Some creep he didn't even know – he didn't recognize the irritating name of author Basil Birch – was making money off of the Kid and Heyes. And there wasn't a thing they could do about it. Or was there? If there was a way to stop the author of _The Adventures of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes _from getting rich off of their famous names, without giving away the boys' identities, Heyes couldn't think of it was just now. But he wasn't done thinking about it.

Heyes looked at his battered old pocket watch. It was 4:30. If he hurried, he could get to the Leutze aphasia clinic before it closed for the evening. He took off at his fastest walk and just barely made it up the stairs and to the door by 4:55. He dashed down the empty hall to Dr. Leutze's office door. The doctor's door was opened as he packed his brief case preparatory to leaving for the day – with a pile of reports to read and things to write, as always. "Doctor?" Leutze looked up. Seeing Heyes panting and with an anxious look on his face, the doctor invited his former patient in. Heyes closed the door, and then opened it again. "There are two things I need to tell you about – but let me go get Beth – I want her to know about this, too." The doctor, getting very curious, nodded and gestured for Heyes to go down the hall and get his fiancé before she left for the day.

Soon Beth had joined them and Heyes had a couple of things to tell his mentors. "First off, I need advice. My aphasia hit real bad when I was teaching. A word just left me and it seemed like forever before I could say anything. It made me real nervous and I hardly got through the rest of class."

Dr. Leutze looked understandably concerned. "I can see where it would both you. But you were able to recover and keep teaching?" Beth, the experienced teacher, was also watching her love with alarm.

Heyes nodded, "Yeah, eventually. Not real well – I was pretty distracted. My usual, well – my style – it just wasn't there." Dr. Leutze and Beth shared a concerned glance warming into amusement. Heyes might think that his speech was still seriously compromised since he had been shot in the head, but Beth and Dr. Leutze appreciated that Heyes had recovered so much that he was a very skilled and charismatic speaker on a level they had never seen before in a patient. As they shared a look, he finished saying, "But we got through class."

"How long is eventually? How long were you unable to speak?" The doctor was watching his patient keenly.

Heyes stopped and thought, "It seemed like forever. I guess, realistically, maybe one or two minutes? And it was maybe another couple of minutes before I was back to pretty close to normal."

Dr. Leutze broke out laughing, "And you're bothering me about it? Get serious, man! That's nothing! Stop worrying! People without aphasia freeze up like that sometimes. To your students it would look just the same. Really – relax, Heyes!"

Beth and the doctor could see that as the doctor said that, Heyes did start to relax. His mentor's confidence meant a great deal to Heyes, and Dr. Leutze knew it. No matter whether he was worried by the incident or not, he wouldn't let Heyes see anything but a positive attitude about it.

Heyes exhaled, "Well, maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. It seemed awful at the time. I went to see Charlie Homer about it and he told me about the same thing that you did, Doc. But neither of you was there. I know my students saw that something was really wrong and they were wondering and worrying. I asked Charlie if I should tell them about my aphasia. He said only I could gauge that. What do you think?"

Dr. Leutze spoke casually, but Beth knew that he was measuring every word, "You and Charlie know more about teaching than I do. If it comes back, you might think of telling them. But it probably won't come back – so no need to bother them - or you. That's a lot to give away if there's no reason for it. But you said there were two things you wanted to tell me – what's the other one?"

Now Heyes looked even more worried. He looked down as he spoke, "There's a new book out about the Kid and me. It's not just a dime novel – a real hard-cover book. It's being pushed – at least at the one book store I saw there was a pile in the window and a poster. It's going to get people thinking about Jed and me all over again. Just when I thought they might be starting to forget all the stuff we did wrong. At least the poster doesn't look anything like us."

"Do you know the author? Could the stories be real?" Beth asked with concern.

Heyes shook his head uncertainly, "Name of Basil Birch is on the cover. I never met a man by that name – that I recall."

Beth chuckled, "No false modesty, Heyes. Could you have met the man?"

Heyes gave a crooked smile. With all he had been through, Beth knew that he hated to brag too much about any of his gifts – as if in fear that they might be taken from him as speech almost had been. "Alright – except for whatever that bullet wiped out, I'm flawless on names. I never met a man by that name in my life. But if he used an alias for any reason – like maybe if he was a journalist – then I could have met him. I didn't see a picture of him. I don't know what he looks like. So I don't know if he's ever seen me or the Kid. But just having our names out for people to be thinking about – that's dangerous enough and more than. And I do purely hate having someone making money on us when we can't get a dime of it!"

Beth nodded. She agreed with Heyes about the danger of having those two famous names back in the public eye. And she could understand the frustration of a man who couldn't use his name seeing someone else using that name to make money. Heyes, after all, wasn't in a position to make a dime in any way himself. Living on other people's money was eating away at Heyes worse and worse.

Dr. Leutze suggested, "I guess you'd better get the book. Find out what it says about you and your partner."

Heyes snapped angrily, "No! I refuse to let that . . . man make a penny from my pocket. I won't spend my – my supporters' money on that damn book!"

"Then ask Jim to buy it, honey," said Beth soothingly, "Someone has to find out what it says – if there's anything dangerous in it. It could be a problem not just for you, but for the Kid!"

"I know," sighed Heyes. "And don't worry – when I leave here, I'm going to send a telegram to the Kid warning him. Don't know where they're marketing the damn thing – could be just in the east, or out west, too. If only folks could forget us!" Heyes absently rubbed his head – right where he had been shot. Beth had a feeling that she knew what was really hurting him. With Jessie James long dead, this new book made it all the more unmistakable. Heyes and the Kid were easily the most famous western outlaws left alive. Once, Heyes had taken pride in his celebrity. Now it put his life and everything he cared about in danger.

But Heyes didn't have time to sit around and worry about the book. He had his graduate studies and his teaching to keep him plenty busy. After he sent his carefully worded telegram to Louisville, he went back to his room and read math until he was too tired to keep his eyes opened.

Heyes went about his work and tried not to worry about the new book. Of course, he couldn't tell most of his friends at Columbia about the book and his worries. They didn't know his real name and didn't dare to let them learn the truth. If the name of Hannibal Heyes got around at Columbia, and got back to the dean and the President, that would be the end of his graduate degree and of his hopes for the future. It might even doom his amnesty.

Heyes found his friend Matt Peale the next day – they often got together to work on their collaborative Master's thesis. This day they found a few minutes of privacy in one of the little teaching assistant offices. "Matt," Heyes asked, "have you seen that new book out about the Kid and me?"

"Yeah, Heyes," said Peale in a worried tone. "Seems like it's all over town. I haven't dared buy it yet, but I got to find out if my Pa's in there. I don't recognize the author's name from anything Pa ever told me about the Hole."

Heyes nodded, "I haven't gotten it yet, either. I don't recognize the author's name, but he could have gone around using an alias. Or he could be making it all up the way they mostly do! Can't stand the thought of putting another dollar into that vulture's pocket. Maybe Jim Smith – you've met him – maybe he can get it and let us know what it says?"

"I'd be grateful if he would!" said Peale, "I sure don't want my Pa's past to come out and cause him trouble now! Or for your past to cause you even more problems than it does."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days later, Heyes was back teaching his lab section. Every time there was a tiny hesitation in his speech, he could feel his own uncertainty and was sure that all of his students were staring at him. But there were no further lock ups on words and he felt that he had his regular style back, or nearly.

As Heyes was walking home after his last class, a bit after 5:00, he met Jim in the street. Jim had the new Curry and Heyes book under his arm. Heyes knew that his friend had gone out of his way to find him. Jim spoke quietly, "Joshua – thought I'd b-better check this out. Saw it in bunch of stores. I'll let you know what it says."

Heyes said, under his breath, "Thanks, Jim. I'm beholden to you. If you could look for Matt Peale's pa, too, he'd be glad to know. I'll pay you for it, if you like. Wouldn't want you to waste your money on that trash."

Jim shook his head, "It's not t-t-trash. Really. I started it. It's p-p-pretty well done, seems to me. One of the first stories is about how when you first t-took over with the Hole, when you were real young, you b-broke up a war between gangs."

Heyes' brown eyes widened with surprise. "Don't t-t-tell me it's t-true!" said Jim.

Heyes nodded, "Yeah, it is! I didn't know anyone but the gang members ever knew about it! They kind of kept it under wraps – a bit embarrassing having a young guy like me getting the old powers out there to agree. I wasn't any boy though - I was 23."

"Well, he exaggerates that, then. Said you were about 19," said Jim. "I'll keeping reading. Let you know the rest. Might b-be more interesting than you thought!"

"Yeah!" said Heyes. Then he gently tagged Jim on the shoulder and said, very softly, "You've been back working with the doc, haven't you?"

"Yeah," said Jim shyly.

"Good work! I'm proud of you!" Heyes winked at Jim. He didn't want to embarrass his friend, but the progress that he had made recently in reducing his stuttering was quite noticeable. Most of the consonants that had given him trouble were no longer causing him to stutter – only the worst few still caused him to hang up and even those weren't as bad.

"With as well as you've done, thought I'd b-better k-keep trying," said Jim, looking away from his friend, but smiling with pleasure.

Heyes was thinking about that as he went home. He couldn't let his aphasia ruin his career – it would be such a disappointment to Jim, among so many others. Not to mention Beth!

But the next week in class, Heyes could feel his students watching him every time he hesitated over a word. He was painfully aware that it did still happen a few times in every class. Then, as he was worrying over that, he locked up over the word equation. It just wouldn't come and he couldn't find a synonym or any way around it for at least five minutes. He sighed and ran a hand through the hair on his left temple, taking a moment to gather himself. Then he was able to go on.

But when they reached a moment between topics, a young man in the class spoke very nervously. He glanced at a couple of friends as he spoke – they seemed to have gotten together to decide to risk this personal question, "Mr. Smith, is there something wrong? You have trouble talking sometimes . . .? Does it have to do with that scar on your head?"

Joshua inhaled sharply and then slowly let the breath out. He had so hoped that no one would make that connection. But he had made up his mind that he wouldn't refuse to answer this personal question. It was distracting his students and the truth would put their fears to rest – he hoped. "Yes, Mr. Clark. It does. I have something called aphasia. It's trouble in speaking, or understanding, or writing, or reading, caused by a stroke – or an injury. It doesn't bother me much anymore – I've had very good treatment at a clinic here in New York. It's been five years since I was shot."

The whole class gasped. "Shot!" said Billy Clark.

"Yes," said Heyes, trying not to show how terribly hard it was for him to say such private things to his whole class. "A hunter loosed a stray shot – out in Colorado. It ricocheted off a rock and hit me in the head. I couldn't talk at all for a long time – or it seemed long to me. A few months. But, as I said, I got treatment at a clinic here. Now I'm almost back to normal. Or sort of normal. I used to be famous for my talking. Now speaking is a bit of a struggle and I guess it always will be. I'm sorry if it causes problems in class. I try to keep it to a minimum, believe me. But if you folks can be patient, we'll manage. Can you do that?"

"Sure Mr. Smith! Right, guys?" said Clark. The whole class nodded some said, "Yes, Mr. Smith!" Now that they understood what the trouble was, they could respect their teaching assistant for what he was able to do – rather than worrying about what he couldn't do. Clark spoke for the whole little class when he said, "That's really something! That you couldn't talk at all and now you can teach! Wow!"

"Thanks, Billy! I've been lucky." said Heyes, flashing a brilliant smile at the blonde boy, "Now, let's get back to work."

On the way home that night, Heyes passed another book store with a display of the new Heyes and Curry book in the window. He was trying to ignore it. But what Jim had told him as he continued reading was troubling. Most of the episodes in the book were invented, but a couple rang all too true. It was just possible that the author knew, or at least had seen, Heyes or the Kid or both. Heyes began to suspect that he remembered a man with a similarly British name who could well be the author.

The next week, Heyes saw at sign in the window of a book store that was selling the dreaded book, which was still selling well. Heyes had seen a complementary review in a newspaper that mentioned hot sales. The sign said that the author was going to do a book signing at that store the next day. It was at a time when Heyes couldn't be there – he would be teaching. He wished that he could confirm whether or not he knew the author, but he dreaded seeing the man and perhaps recognizing him.

The next day, after class, Heyes found himself walking by the same bookstore. He stood and looked in the window, his anger rising. "Oh, how I'd love to sue that bastard into the poor house! Fattening off of us!" he said to himself – and accidently said it aloud. Then he turned in disgust and walked away.

As Heyes walked through an alley a few blocks away as a short cut, he became aware that he was being followed. Before he could do anything about it, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

"Hands up! Turn around very slowly, please, Mr. Heyes," said a man in a cultured British accent. It sounded like he was standing just a few yards behind the former outlaw. Heyes thought that he recognized the voice. As he turned around, hands up, he realized that he was right. It had been nearly fifteen years since he had seen the portly little Englishman, and when he had known the man the name and the clothes had been different. But he never forgot a face.

"Parker Teagarten!" said Heyes. "It's been near fifteen years, but I don't forget a face – or a name. Specially not after all the times I done faced you across a poker table." Heyes had purposefully reverted to his old western way of speech, removing all evidence of his study in New York. If he could convince Teagarten that he was just passing through New York, and even imply that the Kid was with him, Heyes might just be able to get out of this little fix. Maybe.

The little neatly bearded Englishman was far better dressed than he had been when he had been a reporter out west a decade and a half before. And he had put on a few pounds and added some grey to his hair and beard, but he was unmistakable. "Yes, Mr. Heyes. I haven't forgotten your face either – or your name. And my new book, I must inform you, is selling extremely well in your native land. And in England, where I published first."

Heyes fought to restrain his fury – and his fear. He spoke with an oily smoothness designed to shake the Englishman's confidence, "That so, Teagarten? So you finally wrote up those stories like you said you was going to. But somehow you never sent the Kid and me our share of the money like you promised."

Teagarten was not in the least ashamed of his perfidy, "It is a little difficult to find and send funds to fugitives in hiding, and especially to men who've apparently vanished off the face of the earth after going straight. Dull thing – going straight. I hope you don't mind that on paper you and your compatriot are still outlaws."

"Dull!," laughed Heyes, surreptitiously holding his hands a little lower and a little lower as the conversation went on, "you don't have a clue about it, Teagarten! It's been more excitin' than anything you ever dreamed up!" Heyes shook his head in wonder at his own colorful recent past, "If you only knew all the crazy adventures we've had! And after I got sh . . . But I sure won't tell such good stories to a man who's holdin' a gun on me!"

Heyes could see an anxious light in the little man's hazel eyes. Heyes had been nonchalantly walking a step and another step and another step closer to his captor as they spoke. They were not more than three feet apart now. Teagarten chortled, "I won't worry about that, Mr. Heyes! I am just about to make an easy $15,000 by turning you in to the authorities! And if you give me trouble, I'll take the dead end of that famous dead or alive offer."

"Oh, really?" asked Heyes coolly. "You'd kill the goose that lays your golden eggs? What do you think it would do to your sales to have people knew that you'd turned me in or killed me?"

Heyes could see the little British man looking distracted as he pondered this question. "Why it would send sales through the roof!" exclaimed Teagarten, closing his eyes for a moment to dream and figure out this profitable new future, "I would be featured in every newspaper, and those books would be . . ." Before he could finish his sentence, the distractedly figuring man found that Heyes had a small pistol in his right hand and the British man's own pistol was in Heyes' left.

"As you so memorably said just now, Parker, hands up!" ordered Heyes with a satisfied smile. The little round author gasped and stepped back in terror as he complied. His memories of a very larcenous and dangerous young Hannibal Heyes flooded back. Heyes was delighted to see his victim turn pale.

"Now, Mr. Teagarten, I would like you please to keep your hands up and turn to face away from me," requested Heyes with unctuous politeness. As Teagarden complied, Heyes stuck the British man's pistol into his jacket. Then he expertly used his left hand to pull the little man's jacket back so that Teagarden was caught in the tightened sleeves and unable to move. Heyes used that moment to put his gun down carefully on the cobblestones and pull out the rawhide thongs he always kept handy for just such an emergency. There was an awkward transition as Heyes whipped the jacket off, but since Teagarten was facing the other way he couldn't see or reach the nearby gun to take advantage of it. In a few moments Heyes had the author efficiently tied up. The former outlaw stuffed a handkerchief – dirty, unfortunately – into Teagarten's mouth to keep him quiet.

Heyes turned his captive back to face him, so that he could see how very much in charge of the situation the westerner was. Heyes held his little pistol pointed at the British author's face, "Mr. Teagarten, I'm gonna you leave here in this nice, rat-infested alley until you can manage to untie yourself. It shouldn't take you more than, oh, maybe twenty minutes. Or maybe it could be a mite longer if you're terrible uncoordinated, or maybe real afraid of – pain." Teagarden's eyes widened and he choked on the handkerchief.

Heyes said, with calm malice and a wicked light in his eyes, "Now you ain't gonna try to follow me or figure out what I'm doing in New York just now, are you? And you wouldn't think of going to the police about this little incident, would you?" Teagarden vigorously shook his head. "'Cause I surely wouldn't like that even a little bit. And I surely never would tell you all of those wonderful, high salable stories, if I'm mad at you. And if I ain't happy with you – well, I wouldn't hurt you myself. Heaven forbid! I'm an upright, law-abiding soul these days myself. But I wouldn't like to go bail on the behavior of some of my local, ahem, friends. They might just be real, real displeased with you. And I know for a fact that the Kid would be mightily annoyed with you." The remaining cruel, wicked corner of Heyes' soul dilated with pleasure as he watched the author cringe in silent terror as the evening shadows gathered around him and a rat ran by. Heyes dragged his trussed up victim to lean him against a slimy brick wall. Then Heyes smiled evilly as he turned and walked away with a slow, confident swagger. He didn't want Teagarten to see any hint of hurry or worry, or to have any hint that the Kid was over a thousand miles away.

It was only when he got past sight and hearing of the tied up man that Heyes broke into a long-strided walk and hurried by a circuitous route back to his rented room. He surely hoped that the author wasn't more slippery or smarter than Heyes remembered. Heyes had left Teagarten's own gun near the tied-up man in the alley – so he couldn't be accused of theft. And he really hadn't tied the man too very tightly. Heyes had been careful not to give any hint to Teagarten that he was now headquartered in New York, so he hoped that there would be little likelihood that the police would be able to find him. Heyes asked Jim to go to the alley the next day to make sure that Teagarten was gone – which he was. And then they watched the papers with care to see any hint of the run-in between Heyes and Teagarten (or Birch as his name appeared on the cover of his books). Day after day and no hint of the incident appeared. But Heyes didn't really start to relax until the following week when he saw in the papers that Birch's speaking and book signing tour had taken him to Philadelphia, and then to Baltimore and Washington, D.C. , and other cities farther and farther from New York. Heyes supposed that the story of Parker Teagarten's capture by one of his own most famous characters would somehow never manage to make it into print.

But as he tracked events in the newspapers, Heyes' self satisfaction was soon eclipsed by his anxiety. He couldn't help but notice that Francis Warren had resigned as Governor of Wyoming in order to run to be one of the new state's first senators. Come November, Warren was duly elected Senator from Wyoming. And a surgeon named Amos W. Barber was elected governor of Wyoming. Heyes didn't know the new man at all and neither did the Kid or Lom Trevors or Charlie Homer.

Heyes and Charlie Homer and Lom Trevors all wrote to Cheyenne, but no letters came back. The problems of two little outlaws obviously didn't amount to a hill of beans to the leaders of a big new state. As Heyes and his "wife" Beth rode the train out to Louisville, Colorado, for one last Christmas at Christy's Place, they carried more worries with them than luggage.


	40. Chapter 40

As Beth and Heyes rode the train west for their Christmas visit they grew a bit concerned – it was getting very snowy. But when they arrived in Louisville, it was a bright afternoon, not too terribly cold, and there was the Kid to greet them at the train station. He was driving a pair of bright bay horses hitched to a big sled that would easily carry his two passengers and their luggage. The local horses had trampled down several feet of snow along the street to make a good smooth, firmsurface for sleigh-riding.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Smith! Welcome back!" called the Kid merrily as Heyes helped Beth down from the train to the white-clad ground. There were a couple of people in earshot, so he stayed with the safe aliases.

As they got into the sled and were close enough to speak more privately, Heyes said, "Yeah, Beth, somehow you've wound up with an alias, too! You might rethink really marrying me – the other name you'd get is pretty bad."

Beth kissed her fiancé fondly on the cheek, "Not to me! I won't accept any name but yours, darling."

"What did I ever do to deserve that kind of loyalty, Kid?" asked Heyes, putting his arm around Beth as they took a lap around town to enjoy the beautiful snowy mountains that towered against the blue sky.

"Search me, Heyes!" said the Kid with a laugh as he stylishly turned the horses back toward Christy's Place. He had become quite the expert sleigh driver in his five years in snowy Louisville.

That night after dinner Heyes and the Kid and their ladies gathered close around the cherry-red stove in the back room, which barely kept the Colorado chill at bay.

"So you guys really did know that British author Teagarten, or Birch, or whatever his name really is?" asked Cat.

"Yeah," answered the Kid, "Called himself Teagarten in those days. Don't know which name is real – if either one is. He wore buckskin and carried a rifle and collected Indian stuff. He seemed like a decent enough guy. Never turned us in, anyway, and he sure could have. He made friends with a bunch of trappers and cowboys, though I suppose we were the only outlaws. Guess we seemed a bit more, well, harmless, than somebody like the Teasdales who murdered people left and right."

Heyes took up the story, "Teagarden said he was traveling around the West gathering material for a book. He got us to trust him. I was so young in those days. I thought it sounded romantic to be featured in some book that English folks would read. He promised faithful he'd send us, and the other guys he wrote about, royalties on whatever he published. But then it never happened. Or at least, he never wrote the book until now. And he sure never did sent royalties!"

"He did have a point – you would have been hard to find. But something makes me doubt that he ever tried to find you, really," said Beth.

Heyes nodded and smiled, "I did see some . . . magazine articles he wrote years ago, but he never featured us – just the fur trappers and cowboys and Indians. Used the name of Teagarten on those article. And then he got involved in writing about the Indian wars. So after while, we just kind of forgot about him. Don't know what got him back to us, after all these years."

The Kid tilted his head thoughtfully, "Actually, Heyes, he did feature us once in a magazine piece – remember? It was in _Harper's_, back about 77' or 78'."

Heyes nodded, "Oh yeah! The one about how we saved the lady and her little boy from the Shore gang up Montana way. I'd forgotten all about it. It was just a short piece and we didn't see it for quite a while. Didn't do a lot of magazine reading at the Hole."

"Well, I haven't forgotten it!" said Beth, "I read that article! It sure made you out to be heroes – and a lot of fun even when you were robbing people. I wasn't at all sure I believed it."

"Gosh, I read that, too, when I was just a girl!" exclaimed Cat, "And so did all my friends! We thought you two about hung the moon!"

"He did kinda' make it sound a bit better than it was," said the Kid. "We didn't do anything that anybody decent wouldn't've done in our place."

Beth laughed, "Teagarten or Birch or whoever he is might have done you boys more of a favor than you know. _Harper's_ is a mighty popular magazine – it gets all over the country. That story was the first time I ever heard of you two, but it sure wasn't the last. There were a lot of newspaper and magazine articles after that one – some had you as heroes, and some made you sound a bit more dangerous. But all of them made it seem like you had, well, style."

"With that first story in mind, I guess folks gave you the benefit of a doubt," said Cat.

Heyes and the Kid looked at each other. The Kid said, "I always kinda' wondered how people got started being so nice to us. Now maybe we know. Mr. Teagarten might have done us a pretty fair amount of good."

"Then what made him turn on you in New York, Heyes, and say he was going to turn you in?" asked Cat.

Heyes and Kid both laughed. They knew. "Money!" said the Kid. "Cash on the barrel head!"

"No question about that, Cat," said Heyes. "Kid and I have seen it over and over again. Fifteen or twenty thousand dollars staring him in the face will change a man fast. Book money has got to come in a lot slower than that and take a lot more work. It was when he got to dreaming about how his sales would go up that I was able to get the gun away from him. Easy come, easy go, I guess."

"And you told him that you had even better stories to tell him?" said Cat.

"Yeah. Teagarten said that he thought going straight would be dull!" chuckled Heyes. "Dull! I told him that he was way off on that. And that I sure wasn't going to tell any good stories to a man holding a gun on me. So maybe one day he'll get in touch, once we get amnesty."

"He might be able to help us make some money on our stories," speculated the Kid.

"Or he might steal it all. He can write, but I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him," said Heyes with a bit of a growl.

"Well, Teagarten did cheat a bit at cards," observed the Kid. "Thought after while, he seemed to stop that."

"I gave him a good talking to, late one night," said Heyes, grinning evilly.

"Had your gun with you when you was talking, did you?" asked Curry, having no doubt of the answer.

"It just so happens that I did," said Heyes. "And my skinning knife. And you know, that timid Brit left town not too long after that."

Cat and Beth shook their heads. "Maybe his attitude toward you is not so hard to understand after all, Heyes," said Cat.

Beth nodded. "You do have a little bad left in you, honey, but it seems to me that you used to have a lot more."

"Yeah," agreed Heyes, "Or maybe I've just grown up a mite and gotten more cautious. In the old days, I wouldn't have left him his gun. Nowadays, the amnesty gets to talking to me. After all, that would have been one more charge of theft. I've kinda' lost my nerve."

"Or gained some good sense," said Beth, giving Heyes a hug.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next day was Christmas Eve. It seemed to Heyes and Beth that as Cat was getting breakfast for them and the Kid came in from looking after the stock, the two exchanged quite a few happy glances. The western couple seemed to be keeping some kind of happy holiday secret from their eastern guests. As it grew late in the afternoon, the Kid excused himself and left the hotel. Heyes looked out the window and saw his partner going out to the stable. A few minutes later, the sound of sleigh bells came from the street as Curry drove by in the sled.

Less than twenty minutes later, the bells rang again outside of the back door of Christy's Place. Beth looked out the window. She said, "Heyes, the Kid just let a man and a woman out of the sleight with luggage. I don't know either one of them. I'll bet you do, though."

Then there was a knock at the door and Cat answered it. She let in a graying middle-aged man with a mustache and on his arm was a woman of about his own age. The man kissed Cat happily – evidently the two knew each other. Cat took their wraps and smiled at the pair. Heyes grinned in startled joy and called out, "Lom! You surely are welcome here! I guess you know Cat Christy and this is Beth Warren, who kindly said she'd be my bride. But who's this lovely lady with you?"

Lom smiled under his rapidly graying mustache. He reached out to shake the hand of his old friend. "This is Isabelle – Isabelle Trevors. Yes, I finally found a woman who could put up with me. In fact, we've known each other for years – but it's only recently that she's been free to . . ."

"Free to follow my heart," said Isabelle in a sweet, mellow voice, smiling at her new husband and squeezing his arm. The grey sprinkling the lady's hair and the few wrinkles around her eyes did nothing to dim her loveliness. She seemed to glow with happiness.

Lom went on, "Isabelle, honey, this is my dear, trusted old friend . . ." He stopped for a moment and went on, switching to speaking to Heyes, "Friend – if I give you my word that you can trust my new wife as much as you can me, would you introduce yourself to her properly so you don't ever have to lie to her?"

"Sure Lom," said Heyes softly, smiling at the shining blue eyes of the woman who must only recently have married his sheriff friend. "Ma'am," the former outlaw said, "My partner and I have been straight with the law for seven years. Your husband has been trying for all those years to get amnesty for us." Isabelle looked at Heyes in surprise, and yet without any fear, knowing that this meant that an outlaw was introducing himself to her. She hadn't been married to a sheriff very long, but she had already learned to be at home around a strange assortment of people on either side of the law. At that moment the Kid came through the door, taking off his old shearling coat.

Heyes said, "Partner, have you introduced yourself to Lom's lady . . . properly?"

The Kid knew what Heyes meant and said, "No, partner. Not out in public. But if Lom says we can trust her, and why would he have married her if we couldn't, then I got no objection."

Heyes nodded and went on, "Ma'am, as I was saying, this blonde fellow is my partner, Jedediah Curry."

"And this fellow over here," said the Kid, carrying on the boy's custom of introducing each other, "is my partner, Hannibal Heyes."

Isabelle Trevors' mouth formed a little o as she looked back and forth between the two most famous outlaws in the west. But her voice was perfectly calm as she said, "I'm very glad to meet you, gentlemen. Allow me to assure you that Lom never told me your right names." She smiled with a little sparkle in her eyes, "But I must admit that I had grounds to guess that they weren't likely to really be Jones and Smith."

Everyone in the room laughed as Cat came back in and started setting out hot coffee and tea for everyone. All six of them sat down around the table and it was a little hard to get started talking, when everyone had so many questions to ask.

Once they stopped inadvertently interrupting each other, Cat inquired, "May I ask how you two came to know each other?" inquired Cat, "Since Lom says that you've been acquainted for so long?"

Isabelle looked down and blushed prettily as Lom said, "She was married to the leading mine owner in Porterville – Harry O'Malley - for over twenty years. He was the mayor for a lot of that time, so Isabelle was far above me. But I never could take my eyes off of her. Isabelle was always nice to me, of course, but no more than would be proper."

"Until my husband died last year," said Isabelle. "He was shot by one of his foremen. The foreman ran away, but Lom heroically tracked him down and made sure he got what was coming to him." Isabelle's normally soft voice took on a hard edge for a moment. She ducked her head for a moment and blinked hard. While it was clear that she loved Lom, it was also clear that she had loved the mayor. Isabelle took a breath before she could go on. "Lom and I saw a lot of each other around the trial – and I needed all the comfort he could give me."

Lom had no eyes for anyone but Isabelle as he spoke, "I was glad to do what I could. I couldn't believe that such a great lady would ever look at an ordinary sheriff, but she did . . ."

"I can tell you that he's a good man, Ma'am," said the Kid. "We've always been able to count on him, through thick and thin. Mostly thick."

Mrs. Trevors looked up at the reformed outlaw, "I know that!" she said, "But, Mr. Curry and Mr. Heyes, please call me Isabelle. When you've known Lom so long, it seems silly for you to be too formal with me."

The Kid said, "Then please call me Jed."

And Heyes gave his friend's wife a little smile, "And m . . . Isabelle, you can just call me Heyes. I purely can't stand my first name, so nobody calls me by it. Of course, in . . . other company, Joshua will do just fine."

"I must admit, Heyes," said Lom, "I'm mighty impressed at how well you're doing in school – with everything."

"Thanks, Lom," said Heyes very quietly. "It's been a lot of work, getting this far. I never could have done it without Beth, and without Cat and the Kid. And, of course, I'd have been dead or in prison long ago without you. I'm in a lot of debt to a lot of folks."

"Lom tells me you've put in years of labor at your degrees. So, how far are you from graduating with your master's, Heyes?" asked Isabelle, sounding a little awkward in addressing a man by his last name.

"The little winter session, and then one semester . . . and forever," said Heyes with a little grimace. "If, after all Lom's done, those four governors won't come through with our amnesty, and if I can't get a jury in Montana to find me innocent of man slaughter – or worse – none of the work matters a . . . matters at all."

Isabelle, catching Heyes at deleting a curse from his conversation around ladies, gave him a tiny wicked smile. The three women laughed together – none of them was quite so innocent or proper as their men liked to make out.

"So you're even teaching?" asked Isabelle.

"Yes," said Heyes, "though it isn't always easy. I locked up – you know about my aphasia after I got shot in the head? My trouble talking? Yeah, I was teaching math lab and locked up over a word so bad a couple of times that I had to tell me students about what had happened to me. They were really nice about it – even seemed kind of impressed. And you know, after that, I never locked up again. The mind is a funny thing, isn't it?"

"After all that, it's awful to think that they might not let Heyes get his degrees," said Cat, "or give amnesty to both of the boys."

"Heyes and Jed work so hard, and Lom keeps trying so much to help, and then they can't get a word of support from the new governor in Cheyenne," sighed Beth. "There's no justice in it."

Cat smiled at the Kid, who nodded at her as she stood up and went to into the next room, which was her office. She came back with an official looking white envelope in her hand. "Well, here's something you should see," said Cat to Heyes and Beth, and also looking over to Lom and Isabelle. "We just got this the day before yesterday. We haven't dared to open it yet. Thought we'd save it for you folks as a present. Or we hope it's a present. It's from Washington. You want to read it, Heyes?"

For a second the Kid was startled to see something unprecedented in his partner's brown eyes – a combination of confusion and panic. Heyes couldn't know any more than the rest of them what was in the envelope – could he?

Beth said, "Honey, please let me read it. I'm so eager to see it!" she grabbed the letter from Heyes' fingers. As Beth took the envelope from Heyes, the Kid saw the fear leave his partner's eyes and heard him exhale softly with what sounded like relief. That was even odder – why would he be relieved when the envelope hadn't even been opened yet?

Then Beth took a little silver letter opener handed to her by Cat and slit the long, white envelope. "It's from Senator Francis Warren in Washington, D.C.!" Everyone looked eagerly at Beth. They had thought that Warren would take no more interest in their case, since he had left the governor's mansion to his successor, Amos Barber.

Beth began reading in the clear, steady voice of someone well used to reading aloud to an attentive audience:

"Dear Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith:

My apologies for being so long in answering your communications. I fear that the new governor's staff has been remiss in transmitting my correspondence to my new office in Washington. I have been attempting to transfer your case to the capable hands of my success as Governor of Wyoming, Amos W. Barber, as well as his counterparts Lawrence Ross of Texas, Job Cooper of Colorado, and Joseph O'Toole of Montana. All four are at last in communication. However, I fear that there will be further delays as Ross was defeated in the recent election and in January he will be replaced by James S. Hogg. Therefore you may expect no progress on your case until some weeks or even months after that date. As you will appreciate, any new governor has a great many things to attend to. The kind of appeal that you are making takes some time to consider.

I will caution you that Hogg has an unhappy incident in his past that may prejudice him against you. Some years ago he was ambushed and shot in the back by a group of outlaws. He is a strong law and order man and he will not do anything to jeopardize that reputation. However, I will continue my efforts on your behalf after his inauguration.

I wish you and your respective fiancés a very happy Christmas and a fortunate New Year.

Sincerley,

Francis Warren, Senator, State of Wyoming."

As Beth finished, Isabelle was covering her mouth with her handkerchief. It was not difficult to detect that she was trying to suppress laughter. "Dear, it isn't funny!" said Lom, seriously offended, "If those governors can't agree, all of Heyes' work could go for nothing and he and Curry could end their days in prison!"

Isabelle turned red and said, "I'm so sorry. I know it isn't funny at all. Quite the reverse. But I was remembering something that I'm afraid is, unfortunately enough for the person involved. If you have trouble with Governor Hogg of Texas, you might try to play on his rather odd sense of humor. I am reliably informed that he named his little daughter Ima."

Within a minute, despite their best efforts, everyone else at the table was laughing, too. "You aren't serious!" snorted Heyes.

And the Kid asked, "He really named his daughter Ima Hogg?"

"I'm perfectly serious!" smiled Isabelle. "However, don't give credence to rumors of siblings named Ura or Hesa or Shesa. Only Ima is authentic, from what I understand. However," she poked Lom in the ribs, "I wouldn't put it past the old boy in the future!" That set them to laughing again.

Some time later, Cat was working to prepare dinner with Isabelle's aid, and Heyes and Lom were in a room upstairs catching up with their respective histories. The Kid found Beth alone in the big back room setting the table for their holiday dinner. She wasn't surprised to have Heyes' partner ask her very quietly, "Beth, I saw Heyes when Cat handed him that envelope. He looked scared! And then when you took it, he looked better. What's the matter? I don't want to embarrass him by asking."

Beth nodded, "But you're mighty curious. I can't blame you. I'm glad you came to me – it surely would have hurt his pride badly. He . . .well, you know he reads extremely well. But not out loud. It's about the last skill he hasn't mastered yet that was taken away by his aphasia. He can do it, but it's very slow and awkward for him."

"Oh," said the Kid. "So that's why . . ."

"That's why I took that envelope away from him. I hope it didn't look too rude, but he would have been in agonies of embarrassment to try to read aloud in front of you all without any time to prepare. He says that he sounds like a first grader. It's not true. He sounds like a slow third grader. I don't mean to be cruel, but it's true. It's getting better, but very, very slowly. Knowing him so well, I'll bet you can guess how he usually covers for it."

Curry nodded, "Yeah. I'll bet he reads whatever it is over first and memorizes it. Then he recites from memory and just pretends he's reading off the page."

Beth smiled. The Kid certainly did know his partner well. "That's right, Jed! Typical Heyes, to cover that he can't do something ordinary that's easy for other folks by doing something extraordinary that's easy for him but not for other folks. He can read and memorize several pages in almost nothing flat. He's quite an amazing guy, your partner."

Jed Curry sighed. He said, "Yeah, I just hope he doesn't finish up by being quite an amazing guy in prison for the rest of his life. It would be an awful waste!"

"Heyes and I think it would be just as big a waste for you to be in prison, Jed," said Beth. "And Lom and all of us are doing everything we can to keep that from ever, ever happening. But right now, while we're all together, let's just forget stupid old Governor Hogg as much as we can and have a Merry Christmas!"

So that's exactly what they did. Heyes got out his guitar that night and the next day. They all sang together and Cat fixed them a delicious Christmas dinner. The day after Christmas, the Kid took them all for a memorable sleigh ride by the light of a brilliant full moon.

But once Christmas was over, Heyes went back to worrying. Once he got past the brief winter session, there would be only one more semester to go. That last semester, he had a feeling, would be one to remember. But whether it would be memorable for good or ill, or some combination of the two, he just couldn't know.


	41. Chapter 41

A couple of days after Christmas, four men sat around a table in a very private room upstairs at Christy's Place. It was normally a regular guest room, but Cat had had a couple of men carry up a poker table and some chairs. The men gathered around the table with beers, sandwiches, and cards were playing what had to have been one of the most unusual poker games in the history of the West. On one side of the table sat Sheriff Lom Trevors and next to him Sheriff Harvey Wilde. On the other side sat the two most famous western outlaws left alive. The only two of the men at the table who hadn't met before a few days before were the two sheriffs.

"Aw, damn, Heyes, how do you do it? And keep on doing it?" said Wilde, throwing down his cards.

Hannibal Heyes smiled as he swept the multicolored pile of chips over to his side of the table to join his already impressive collection. "Mathematics, Sheriffs. Percentages," answered the famous outlaw and graduate mathematics student, as he winked at the well-financed sheriff. Heyes, who had started the game with very few dollars to his name aside from loans and the remaining scraps from some previous poker winnings, was certainly the best motivated man at the table. The Kid and even Trevors had much better sources of income than Heyes, the grad student, did.

"What do you hear from Cheyenne, Lom?" asked Heyes offhandly as he methodically arranged his newly won chips into ever taller piles sorted by color.

"Are we here to talk or play poker?" asked Kid Curry sourly. His own piles of chips were dwindling.

"Well, actually, Kid . . ," began Trevors

"Yeah," admitted the Kid. "I know we gotta talk. And I'm losing anyhow. When Heyes doesn't have to worry about givin' himself away, it just ain't worth sittin' down with him at all."

"I haven't heard anything other than what was in that letter to the Kid," scowled Lom. "I suspect that that new Texas man is gonna make trouble for you."

Heyes looked up from his chips to gaze steadily into Lom Trevor's eyes, and then those of Sheriff Wilde, and back again. "Lom, Wilde, am I gonna hang for murder?" the fugitive former outlaw asked frankly.

"I sure hope not, Heyes. But how do I know?" answered Trevors steadily. "From what you told me, it sounds like an open and shut case of self-defense. But that's only what you say. I haven't heard the opposing lawyer's presentation. And the only witnesses are two notorious wanted outlaws. Even if he weren't wanted, nobody could say that the Kid's exactly an impartial witness. And the sheriff who gathered up the evidence afterwards has his bread buttered on the other side."

Wilde put up a hand, "Hold on there, Trevors! I know Herm Pohank – we worked together for a while in Denver. He's a straight shooting sheriff. I can't imagine him faking or ignoring evidence from that crime scene on any account. And from what I hear, he wasn't real pleased with his deputy even before he got caught up in a conspiracy and hanged for murder. So it's not all bad."

"It might all come down to lawyer versus lawyer, and how the jury feels," said Lom Trevors, as he swiftly dealt another hand to each player. "It so often does."

"You think just plain public opinion might play into it, Lom?" asked Heyes, trying not to sound too concerned. "Even something like that new book about us?"

"Could be, Heyes," said Lom. "Men are men. They can't help how they feel about things – and people."

Heyes nodded. "That new book seems to be pretty positive, from what Jim says. Maybe I should change my mind on having my name kept secret during the trial, if the judge allows it?"

"I don't know, Heyes. I'll tell you one thing – I doubt you can keep that jury from figuring out who you are, whether you tell them or not," said Wilde, downing a swig of beer.

"I suspect you're right," said the Kid. "Might not make much difference."

"Maybe not in the courtroom," said Heyes, "But when it comes to your safety in Louisville and my chances of employment – if I get off – that's where the officially secrecy could help. If they allow it."

His three friends nodded. "Guess you have a point there, Heyes," said the Kid. "Are we gonna play or not?"

"Alright then, if I don't hang, or get jailed on man-slaughter, are the Kid and I gonna spend the rest of our lives in prison for armed robbery?" asked Heyes, with a little more anxiety coloring his voice. There was a pause while all four men studied their cards.

"Now there's a question that comes down to politics more than the law, in my opinion," said Trevors. "And there's arguments on both sides."

"I get the arguments against Heyes and Curry," said Wilde, "but what's the argument for them? I mean aside of their being decent guys, and popular with the public. What the political upside to amnesty?"

The conversation hesitated for a moment while Trevors dealt a card to Wilde, two to Curry, three to Heyes, and took one for himself.

Trevors shrugged, "Just plain popularity is a pretty powerful political force, I'd say. For Wyoming, I think the upside's pretty obvious. Having a pair of notorious outlaws on the loose attached to the reputation of Wyoming makes the whole state look bad. Giving them amnesty makes the place look better, without the trouble of catching them – and keeping them caught, which is the hard part. They're the slipperiest bastards west of the Mississippi, by reputation." He winked at his old friends.

"We are, that," said the Kid with notable pride. "Heyes just can't stand to spend the night in jail. He'll do about anything to get out before that first night is over."

"Kid!" protested Heyes irritably. He didn't like his little weakness to get exposed to lawmen, whether they were friends or not.

"But what about for Montana, Texas, and Colorado?" asked Wilde. "You've been watching this for seven years, Trevors. You must have a pretty good idea."

"Colorado would love to have Curry as a sheriff rather than an embarrassment, don't you think?" asked Trevors.

"Yeah, but what about Texas and Montana?" prodded Wilde again. There was a pause while the four men studied their hands.

"Those are the wild cards, so to speak," said Heyes, throwing down his cards. "I'm out."

"Raise you twenty," said the Kid. The two sheriffs matched his bet.

"Another kind'a pressing question," said Heyes, now unencumbered by cards, "If I hang for murder, or go to prison on some variation on man-slaughter, does that end the Kid's chances for amnesty?"

"The governor – now the senator – said they saw you guys as a package deal," said Trevors. "But what happens with the Kid's end of that deal if you go to jail or to the gallows, Heyes, I just can't say. I hope we never find out."

Wilde threw in his cards, but the Kid said, "I'll see you, Lom."

Trevors turned up his cards – he had three kings and two jacks. The Kid pitched in his cards in disgust. "Hope I do better in court than at poker."

"Might be just as much of a crap shoot," observed Heyes, gathering up the deck to deal. "All comes down to human beings, and you know how unpredictable they are."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In wee hours of the next morning, Beth woke up in the dark to hear Heyes next to her in bed yelling in his sleep, "No! No! Take me!"

She shook her man out of his nightmare. He awoke panting. "Thanks, Beth. That was a nasty one. Sorry to bother you."

"Do you mind telling me what it was about?" asked Beth, caressing Heyes' bare chest as his breathing slowed back to normal.

"Aw, you don't wanna know. Just a stupid nightmare. Go back to sleep and don't worry," said Heyes, turning over to face away from Beth.

"If it's preying on your mind, then I do want to know, honey," said Beth gently, running a hand down his shoulder.

Heyes exhaled hard as he turned over to face Beth. "If you insist. They were hauling the Kid off to prison while I was graduating from Columbia with honors," said Heyes crisply. "It would never really happen. If he goes in, so do I."

"But you could go in and he could go free," said Beth with worry in her voice. "Or you could go in together.

"Yeah. But there's nothing I can do about it, either way," said Heyes miserably.

"Nothing except to just keep doing your best at school, and keep your nose clean – so you come across your best. And so you're ready to start your teaching career when you get off and you both get amnesty!" Beth murmured to Heyes. "So get your sleep, love. You need to have a clear head."

"You're right, honey," said Heyes. He turned back to over to kiss Beth.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Heyes got back to New York for the brief winter session, the weather was icy cold and the skies were grey. The retired outlaw met up with his thesis partner, Matt Peale, in one of the teaching assistant offices.

"Whew! Sure is cold out. Must be getting tense for you, Heyes," said Peale, "with your last semester's papers and the MA thesis and heading up your math lab section, and still no word on the trial or the amnesty."

"Don't remind me!" said Heyes with a wry smile. "I got to concentrate on school. If I mess that up, I'm in trouble anyhow. The other stuff, there's just nothing I can do about."

"Yeah, but it's got be distracting," Peale muttered.

"Not if I don't let it be," said Heyes testily. "So stop talking it and let's get to work! Let me show you my latest equations."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes buckled down to work. He was serious about not letting himself get distracted from school.

Professor Homer sat across his desk from his star student one day in March, "Heyes, you are amazing, considering what you're dealing with. Or even not considering it. I hear nothing but praise from all your seminar professors. You're doing great lab assisting work for me. Your thesis is coming along right on pace."

"Thanks, Charlie," said Heyes. "It all helps to keep me distracted from – you know."

"Yeah," said Homer, "Any word on the trial?"

Heyes' breath hissed. "No. Nothing. No word on anything. I wrote to the governor. And to Warren. Nothing back. Oh well – I didn't write to 'em that long ago."

But Heyes did relax on occasion. That Friday, he got together with Paul Huxtable, Neal George, and Ev Carter at their favorite bar.

"That statistics seminar is a bitch!" moaned George. "To everyone but you, Smith. How do you mange to sound brilliant in every single class?"

"I work at it, NG," said Heyes with a grin. "I read. I study. You know the drill as well as I do. We all do. Let's not talk about school. I'm sick of it."

"Not too much longer for you to be sick of it, Smith," said Carter. "I guess you're still on track to finish this semester? You'll beat us all if you do. But we ought'a be used to that."

"I'm trying, guys," said Heyes. "I just got to finish up so I can get a job and marry Beth."

"Were you this good at crime?" asked Huxtable. The rest of the friends looked at their youngest member in horror, hissing to shush him.

"Hush up, Paul!" said George before Heyes could say anything himself. "You never know who might hear you around here!"

"Sorry!" said Huxtable, "More than enough beers for me, I guess. I'm really sorry, Smith."

But Heyes could see his friends staring at him, wondering the same thing. He had always promoted the idea that he had been a pretty ordinary crook who worked alone. Considering how excellent he was at school, they couldn't help but wonder if, during his years out west, he had been far more than an ordinary criminal.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Heyes dropped into the worn leather chair in Charlie Homer's office in April, his advisor said, "You feeling good about your work, Heyes?"

"Yeah. Pretty good," said Heyes, who, hearing Homer's voice, was suddenly unsure whether he was right to feel that way.

"Well I'm not happy with it!" shouted Homer, "What do you mean rearranging lessons without telling me? Who's the professor here, you or me? You might be a damn gang leader in Wyoming, but here you're an assistant! Got it, Heyes? An assistant! A student! I'm in charge! Not you! You want to change something, you ask me first!"

Heyes' mouth opened and closed and he flushed in embarrassment. But in embarrassment not for himself, but for Charlie. Heyes spoke quietly, trying not to sound like he was complaining or attacking his advisor, who didn't sound like himself at all, "Those classes haven't happened yet. I just told Huxtable that I might make that little change – not that I would. I was about to ask you about it. I'll do whatever you want me to do, Charlie. I just thought it might work better if . . ."

Homer stood and raged at his star student. Heyes' mouth fell opened. It was like his advisor had turned into an utter stranger, "That's Professor Homer to you, Smith! You're paid to do what I tell you to do! Not to mess around with my plans. You will leave the lessons in the order I put in the syllabus! And it's been two weeks since you reported on your thesis. Please have something for me Thursday. Stop being lazy and insubordinate or I'll report you to the dean. Get out of here"

Heyes rose and left without another word. There was nothing he could say.

Heyes went and found Huxtable between classes in his teaching assistant office. Heyes asked, "Missouri, what did you tell Homer about my plans for lab?"

Huxtable looked at his older friend in bafflement, "I just said you had a good idea to make a little re-arrangement – you know what you said to me. I said he should ask you about it. What did he say?"

Heyes said, "He took my head off, Missouri! I've never seen Charlie Homer anything like that. You'd think I'd attacked his qualifications or something. Or, well, I don't know what to think. Has he seemed kind of testy and out of sorts to you lately?"

Huxtable nodded. "Yeah. I heard him dress NG down in the hall just yesterday over some tiny thing. There's something wrong, Kansas. You gonna talk to him about it?"

"I don't know if I can, Missouri. He threatened to report me to the dean," Heyes saw how concerned Huxtable looked and he agreed, "But I'll do my best. He wants me to see him on Thursday. I'll see what I can do. He's more likely to listen to me than to any other student."

Huxtable paused and looked at his friend. "Smith – does he know who you are – you know – what you did?"

Heyes nodded, "I told you that. Yes. Homer knows everything."

Huxtable swallowed, and said very softly, "Do you think he could be worrying – about you? You said that you would have to stand trial. Have you heard anything about that yet?"

Heyes looked down in shame. "No, Missouri, I haven't heard a thing about the trial. It has to be soon. And yeah, Charlie could be worrying over me. But not this much. I just can't believe that. It's something else. I'm sure it is. I'll see what I can find out on Thursday. I'll let you know what I find out," said Heyes. He hoped that Huxtable wasn't right. He couldn't stand the thought that his own legal problems could cause such worries and troubles for other people.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes felt a nervousness bordering on fear as he approached his advisor's office that Thursday afternoon. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know what was bothering Charlie Homer so badly. Heyes knocked on his advisor's door, "Come in, Heyes!" he heard the reply come clearly through the door. Heyes had never heard Homer be so careless with his real name.

"Hello, Professor Homer. Can I please ask you to be more careful – with my name," said Heyes tentatively.

"What? I called you Smith, didn't I?" Professor Homer sounded shaken.

"No, professor. You called me Heyes and you said it pretty loudly. And I wasn't alone in that hall," said Heyes, a little more firmly.

Homer looked appalled at his own actions. "I – gosh, I'm sorry Heyes. I sure didn't mean to do that. And why are you being so formal all of a sudden?"

Heyes stared at Homer, who seemed to be an utterly different person than he had been two days before. "You told me to call you Professor Homer. You said you'd report me to the dean if I was insubordinate. I thought you meant it."

"I'm sorry, Heyes. And you don't have to present to me on your thesis, if you don't need to. I'm really not up to hearing it, honestly," Charlie Homer held him head in his hands. As he looked up, Heyes saw how very upset he looked, "Go away, Heyes. I . . . I just can't . . . Go away and leave me alone, Heyes. Please!"

"I'm not going away until you tell me what's wrong, Charlie!" said Heyes firmly, "There's something bothering you a lot. And it'd better not be me, 'cause I'm not worth it."

"No – or well, yeah I'm worried about you," Homer stopped and took a deep, shuddering breath, as he manfully fought to stave off tears, "It's Marie. She sick, Heyes. She's real sick."

Heyes was shocked, "Marie? What kind of sick?"

"She has cancer, Heyes. Bone cancer," Heyes gasped. Cancer in those days was a death sentence with little recourse. "We knew there was something wrong, but we didn't know how bad until just a couple of weeks ago. She's having surgery next week. She won't make it. There's no hope," now the tears were flowing freely down Charlie Homer's face.

"Oh my God! Charlie, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Heyes, with tears starting in his own eyes "You can't keep teaching with this going on. It isn't right – not for you or for Marie. You need every minute you can have together. You have to take off. Hell, you should just retire. You've put in the time. Is she is pain?"

"Yes, she's in terrible pain," sobbed Homer, wiping his eyes, "And there's nothing we can really do. I'd love to take time off, but I can't leave all my students with no one to teach them,"

"What do you have teaching assistants for, Charlie? We can take over for you. You must have notes we can use," said Heyes.

"Yeah, I don't trust the other guys that much, Heyes. But if you would . . . I can't ask that of you, Heyes. You have your own classes and your thesis – and I know you're waiting or worrying," Homer sniffed, and wiped at his eyes, trying to pull himself together.

"You let me worry about that, Charlie!" said Heyes, "I'd be privileged to teach for you. It's just the one undergraduate class I'm assisting on and the grad seminar I'm in, right?"

"That's right," Charlie Homer gasped, "Oh, Heyes, I'd be so grateful to you. There's no one I'd trust more. No one on earth. If you could take just a day or two or three - tomorrow and next week – so I could be with Marie. Then I'll come back and take over – after . . ."

"No!" said Heyes fervently, "You can't come back right after that. You need some time. I'll take both classes until you're really ready."

"I'm in your debt, Heyes!" said Homer. "I'll tell the dean what we're doing. There won't be any trouble. I'll let you know what's going on – with Marie."

Heyes wiped his eyes, "Give her all my love, Charlie! Is she up to a visit – from Beth and me?"

Homer shook his head, "No, Heyes. She's dying. She doesn't see anyone. Except me."

That night, Heyes went to see Beth in her office at the clinic. He said, "Marie Homer's dying of cancer, Beth! I don't what Charlie will do without her. If it was you . . ." Heyes broke down and just held Beth and sobbed. "I'll be teaching for him – until he can manage it. It's the only thing I can do for them."

"You're the best, Heyes!" said Beth, stroking his long hair and talking through her tears, "Charlie and Marie have been there for us through thick and thin. They gave up their apartment to a bunch of outlaws and friends. Remember how Marie bandaged up the Kid and you, day after day? It's great that you can do this for them! Gosh, I love you, Hannibal Heyes! But oh, poor Marie and Charlie!" The two held each other and wept for their dear friends.


	42. Chapter 42

Heyes went to see the Dean of the graduate school to make sure that he did not overstep what a graduate student could do. The elegantly furnished office did not make Heyes nervous, but what he was there about did. The Dean, a prodigiously mustachioed gentleman, looked solemnly at this student to whom so much was being entrusted.

"Smith," said the Dean in his rumbling bass voice, "I would not even consider allowing most masters students to teach a graduate class, even with the professor's notes and advice to guide you. You do understand that?"

"Yes, sir," said Heyes seriously. "That's why I'm here. I'm glad to take on the responsibility, but only with your approval."

"I see," said the dean. "This is hardly the first time I have heard of you, Smith. Professor Homer has spoken to me about you, as has Dean Hager from Columbia College. And Professor Hargrove has put in a good word for you, as well. Your history – from one-room-schoolhouse to graduate school by way of a bullet in the head – is most impressive." Heyes flushed. He hated to think what the dean would say if he knew about the other adventures that had come between those years.

"Your excellent grades and your strong previous record as a graduate teaching assistant mean nothing in comparison to what your professors have had to say. And, of course, you have the maturity of a few extra years and what I understand is some pretty wide experience of the world. Since the graduate seminar does not include any PhD students whose qualifications would be compromised by your lack of a graduate degree, that makes the decision much easier. So long as you promise to stay in close touch with Professor Homer, I have no objection to your taking the last few class sessions."

"Of course, Dean," answered Heyes.

"And Smith," added the dean, "please don't let your own graduate work suffer. Lean on the other assistants as much as you need to. We think a great deal of you here at Columbia. Your professors are here to serve you – not the other way around. If you have any trouble with the classes or the students or anything, please come to see me. I will advise Charlie's students, if they need anything beyond direct follow-ups from class. I happen to be a mathematics professor myself." He gave the surprised Heyes a wink. "Now get out of here and get back to work!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes asked his fellow teaching assistants to meet in the tiny, paper-piled office that they shared. Heyes balanced on the edge of the desk while Huxtable sat in the creaky rolling chair that kept threatening to keel over, while a blonde Ohio boy named Honus Messersmith perched on a step stool.

"Boys," Heyes began uneasily, "I think you've noticed that Charlie Homer hasn't been at his best lately." His fellow teaching assistants nodded. "His wife, Marie – well, she's dying." Huxtable and Messersmith gasped.

"That's awful!" cried Huxtable and Messersmith looked just as upset. Neither one of them had spent nearly as much time with Marie Homer as Heyes had. The former outlaw, after all, had lived in the Homers' apartment for months while he was recovering from being accidentally shot by his partner. But both boys were close to their advisor and they looked distraught.

"Yeah, it is," said Heyes, "She's been . . . well, I'd better stay away from the personal stuff or I'll never get through this. Charlie needs somebody to stand in for him for a while. Realistically, it'll have to be till the end of the semester. He's asked me to use his notes and take over his classes. The dean has given his approval." Heyes stopped and looked back and forth at his fellow assistants to see how they reacted to this news. There was no hint in their eyes of jealousy – only eagerness to support their fellow grad student.

"Wow, Smith, the graduate class, too?" asked Messersmith in the slight accent that remained from his German birth. "That's a lot of work while you're finishing up your thesis! What can we do to help?" Heyes was complemented that his fellow assistants showed no disbelief in his ability to teach a graduate class when he was in only his second semester as a graduate student himself.

"I can take your lab section," volunteered Huxtable, "if Hans can help with grading . . ."

"Of course!" said Messersmith quickly, "and anything else we can do. You just let us know, Josh. We'll be there."

Heyes looked gratefully back and forth between his friends and supportive colleagues, "Thanks so much, guys. I really appreciate it. And so will Charlie."

"How's Charlie?" asked Huxtable cautiously.

"He's real upset, of course," said Heyes and cleared his throat. He was very close to breaking down right then and there.

"We've both got class, Kansas, so we got to go," said Huxtable. "But don't you worry! We've got your back, don't we Hans?"

"Thanks, Missouri, Hans" said Heyes. "I knew you both would. And so did Charlie and the dean."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

On his way home from school, Heyes went to the Leutze clinic. There he ran into – nearly literally – Jim in the hall. "Hey, Smith!" asked the young assistant who was now less and less of a patient, "How are you?"

"Under the gun, Jim, and worried as heck" muttered Heyes, calling his friend to come close where they could speak with some privacy in the hall. There weren't many people there who could overhear them, but Heyes always wanted to be careful. "Marie Homer has cancer. She's dying, Jim."

Jim's mouth fell opened and he gasped out, "Oh no! That's t-terrible! Isn't there anything they c-can do?"

"No, not from what Charlie tells me," said Heyes. "He's asked me to take over his classes."

Jim was impressed even as he grieved. "Gosh, isn't that terribly unusual? For a p-professor to ask a grad student to t-take classes for him?"

"Yeah. I wish we could go see Marie – before . . . but she's in such bad shape, she's not seeing anyone. But you could send a note or a card . . . I could take it – I'll be meeting with Charlie pretty often so I can teach the way he wants me to."

Heyes went and knocked on Beth's door. She wasn't surprised to see him, under the circumstance. She knew that he would need her support.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It might not be so very hard for Heyes to walk into a single undergraduate class and take over for Charlie Homer – he had done it before. But this was much more than that, as he told Beth over a dinner of pizza in a favorite little dive of theirs the night after the first class.

Heyes was glad to have a fiancé who understood the challenges of teaching, "One session and a month of classes and exam sure are two different things! I'm just glad to have that syllabus and his detailed notes! I've got lectures to coordinate, and TAs to be in charge of, and meeting with students. It's great preparation for what I'll be doing – I hope I'll be doing – come the fall. But you know what's the worst,"

"Yes, honey, I do," said Beth. "The graduate seminar! It leans so hard on just you - keeping those discussions going. You can't make them talk – you've got to guide them and inspire them while they do the talking. And then you have to find a fair way to grade them."

Heyes nodded, putting down a slice of pizza while he let out his insecurities to Beth. "You got that right! Lecturing is a piece of cake compared to leading discussions and grading them, I'm guessing. If I could just do it all myself – but getting the students to do it – some of them senior to me. I just don't have the experience. I haven't taken that many graduate seminars – much less taught them! It's terrifying. I just don't want to mess this up. It's so important to all the students – and to Charlie. All those students are like . . . are like his children."

"Yes, darling, I know. And you know what that makes you?" Beth raised her eyebrows.

Heyes met her eyes with a gaze full of both pride and trepidation. He nodded. Heyes knew all too well that Charlie Homer thought of him as a son. "I know. And that's the hardest – knowing how much he trusts me. I can't let him down – not now! Oh, God, Beth! To lose Marie and not even be able to see her again! You know she's been the closest I've had to . . ."

Beth took her fiancé's hand, "To a mother. Since you lost your own."

Heyes nodded, unsuccessful trying to fight back his tears. "And what if they come for me before the semester's over? What if someone else has to finish for me?"

To that, Beth could give him no answer but a comforting kiss. Whatever happened, she would be at his side.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes paused for just a second before he walked into Charlie Homer's undergraduate class to take over for his friend, mentor, and advisor. He was about to step into a world that he hoped to inhabit for the rest of his life – if the powers that be would let him. The world in front of the class was a whole lot different than the world of the students in the seats. It helped a lot to know that Charlie and the dean and the other teaching assistants all believed in Heyes – or at least in Joshua Smith. If only four governors and twelve men could be added to the list of people who believed!

Heyes walked to the front of the class and started writing on the board a good twenty minutes before class was to start, so there were no students in the seats yet. Heyes wrote out "Mr. Joshua Smith will be teaching for Professor Homer. . ." and so on, laying out the technicalities as he and Charlie Homer and the dean and the other teaching assistants had worked them out. Then he put up directions for homework and a few beginning equations. By the time Heyes had finished writing on the board, in his immaculate new handwriting, students had begun to arrive. But Heyes avoided saying much. He didn't want to have to repeat himself about the situation.

As the last students walked into the room, Heyes looked around and gathered the students' attention silently. When they were all looking up at him, he began in calm and authoritative voice, "Come to order, please. I'm afraid that Professor Homer is away from campus dealing with a family emergency. So, as it says on the board, I'll be taking over teaching the class for him. You all know me as a teaching assistant – I'm Joshua Smith. I'll take over Professor Homer's office hours – right after class on Tuesdays. Any of you who have Professor Homer as your academic advisor will now be advised by Dean Galbraith – the dean of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. He used to be a mathematics professor and he's Professor Homer's boss, so he knows what he's doing. Paul Huxtable will take over my own lab section. Any questions?" Heyes' old outlaw instincts primed him to be ready for challenges and dissention, but in fact every student calmly accepted his statements. Joshua Smith had the class with him from the first moment – although he knew well that it would take constantly vigilance and work to keep more than twenty young men and women attentive and positive.

A brash boy in the first row put up his hand. "Is Professor Homer alright? Can we send cards or anything?" Every pair of eyes in the room looked up with eager attention – they all were wondering the same things.

Heyes smiled a little. Charlie Homer's students were very loyal and supportive – which wasn't surprising. "It isn't my business to share the professor's personal concerns with you without his permission, but he'll appreciate your concern. If you want to send any good wishes to him, I'm sure he could use it. I'll be happy to convey any cards or messages to him. Thank you, Jeremy! That's very thoughtful of you."

A girl – one of only two women in the class – asked, "Will you be in charge for the rest of the semester, Professor Smith?"

Heyes fought back a grin. "Just Mr. Smith, please. One day I hope to have earned that higher title, but I haven't yet. And yes, I think I'll be with you for the rest of the semester. If . . . yes, I think it will have to be until exams are over. If any other . . . arrangements need to be made, I'll let you know. Or someone will." Heyes couldn't help thinking uneasily of the distinct possibility that he might have to leave New York suddenly for a trip to Montana. "Now let's get to work. Ch . . . Professor Homer wouldn't want us to lose time. Please bring out your homework and turn to page 225 in your textbook." Heyes, as usual, began to pace back and forth across the blackboard as he lectured and wrote and called on students.

The first undergraduate session went smoothly – or as smoothly as undergraduate classes ever go. There were always hard questions and awkward students. The next day it would be on to the graduate class. That, as he had confided to Beth, was what really had Heyes worried. That and how he would balance teaching both classes with completing his own classes and his thesis. Heyes stayed up until the wee hours preparing.

The next morning at what felt like the crack of dawn but was really 8:00 AM, Heyes walked into the seminar room to teach his very first graduate class. He kept wondering if he had forgotten to shave or left something unbuttoned, but he was, in fact as prepared as a mere MA student could be. He hoped it would be the first of many times, but it felt extremely strange to sit down at the head of the table instead along one side. It made him nervous to see eight pairs of eyes looking to him so expectantly. As Heyes could see in their faces, of all of the students had heard about Professor Homer's emergency. He guessed that some even knew exactly what it was. Heyes got a particularly warm smile from Neal George. Heyes knew that he would have a supportive student there, who would be sure to try to get discussions to go the way Heyes wanted. But it was undeniably awkward to suddenly be teaching a man whom Heyes saw as his equal and his friend – and who was actually older than he was by several years.

"Good morning, guys!" said Heyes, feeling that he could be much more informal with graduate students, as Charlie Homer always ways. "I imagine that you're heard of Professor Homer's family emergency. I'll be taking over his classes. I know, I know – I'm just an MA student. But I've worked with Charlie a lot, and I have his notes and his guidance – and the graduate dean's approval. Which I really appreciate. So while I can't say for you to treat me as you would treat him, you can treat me as speaking for him. And if there are any questions that I can't answer, I'll get his answers and get back to you. Please do try to cut me a break – I'll be feeling my way here. I can use your support! So any questions?"

"Congratulations on the promotion, Smith, temporary as it is. That Charlie trusts you is good enough for me!" said Robert Pilchuck, a genial young fellow from Boston. His fellow students chimed in with their support. Heyes was glad that Neal George hadn't been the first to speak – it would have looked contrived for so close a friend to take the lead. Pilchuck was a good guy, but not a particular friend of Smith's. In fact, as a second year MA student, so he was technically senior to Smith and they hadn't had any classes together previously.

Heyes put a long equation on the little blackboard on the wall beside the table. "So, here's one for you to consider." Before he had finished writing, an excellent student called Ernie Livermore had started to talk, and more students chimed in as Heyes completed the final characters. Things were off to a flying start. But Heyes had to scramble to catch up. "I'm sorry, Ernie, what were you saying?"

The class stared at Joshua Smith for a moment. "I was saying . . . is something wrong, Smith?"

Heyes sighed. "I'm sorry, but it's hard for me to pay attention to you when I'm writing. Could you please repeat what you said?"

"Is that part of the aphasia, from when you were shot?" asked Neal George, knowing that his friend wanted him to, at the same time that he hated to talk about it. Everyone at the table knew about the bullet that their acting professor had taken in the head, and Heyes knew it.

Heyes spoke quietly, "Yes, it is, Neal. I'm sorry – you'll have to keep it in mind. When I'm writing I can't listen effectively. It's getting better, but as tired as I am this morning . . . So Ernie, please."

"Sorry, Smith. Mr. Smith. Of course. I should have waited anyhow – it's awful the way grad school gets us to be so rude and interrupt each other while we're scrapping for discussion grades. Uh . . . Now I've forgotten what I said." The class laughed at Ernie, with Ernie himself laughing the loudest. NG came to his rescue, paraphrasing his original assertion. So Heyes felt a bit better. Honesty was the best policy in many ways, as he kept discovering. He hated to use aphasia as an excuse, but it was the truth.

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Heyes threw himself into that final month of school, writing and figuring and planning until late every night and into the next morning. There were no more genial dinners with Beth or Friday nights with the boys or Saturday rides in the park. It was nothing but an unrelenting grind.

Beth came to see Heyes in his office on Monday afternoon. He could see the serious look on her face and knew what she would be there to tell him about.

"So," Heyes asked with trepidation, "the surgery's over, is it?" Beth nodded. "And did she . . .?"

Beth shook her head. "She made it – but not by much. It won't be long. Charlie's with her, as always. You know why she won't see anyone, I assume? She's almost constantly on drugs to manage the pain and it embarrasses her to have anyone but Charlie see her when she's under the influence. I can't blame her. But right now, she's just out cold. And I hope she will be for a long time – until . . . I hate to think of all the pain she's been enduring, even with the medicine."

Heyes nodded. "Yeah. It's so awful. When I think of all that she's done for me . . . for lots of people. I just wish there was more I could do."

Beth looked compassionately at her fiancé, "But you're doing more than anyone, Heyes. Even the doctors feel helpless, Charlie says. And he sure does. And I do. And the poor Kid, so far away. I got a wire from him today, sending his best wishes to Marie and Charlie – and to us."

Then there was a knock on the door. It was Paul Huxtable, who had Hans Messersmith with him. They needed to meet with their new boss, so Beth gave them the news and left. She hated to leave Heyes that way – he looked utterly spent physically and emotionally. While everyone else could happily anticipate the relief that would come with the end of the semester, Heyes could look to the future only with uncertainty and even fear. But he kept gamely on.

The deadlines for his MA thesis, and his own graduate papers, were all looming just as Heyes had to work the hardest at his teaching. Early one morning, Beth knocked on Charlie Homer's office door. There was a pause and then a bleary-eyed, unshaven Heyes answered the door. "Oh honey!" cried Beth. "I didn't find you at your place and I was afraid you must have fallen asleep here. So you spent the night here?"

"Oh my God!" whispered Heyes in dread, "I must have. I sure didn't mean to. I feel like something the cat wouldn't bother to drag in. Ugh. . . What time is it? I've got class at 9:00!"

Beth looked at her watch. "It's 7:45, Heyes! We can take a cab to your place and get you cleaned up in time if we hurry . . ."

"No! We might not make it. As junior as I am, they won't wait long for me if I'm late. You know how it is – 20 minutes for a senior professor, 15 minutes for an associate professor . . . about 30 seconds for a teaching assistant! They keep a razor and stuff here for emergencies. If you can take a cab and bring me a fresh shirt and linens and socks. Then if you don't make it back on time, at least I'll be shaved and sort'a clean, and on time. I've got to get my stupid fuzzy head together. You didn't come to give me news, did you?"

Beth shook her head. "No – just to check on you. You know we're all worried . . . We'll I've got to run. Try to get something to eat! I know you have hours office after class, and a thesis meeting – God only knows when you'll get lunch . . ." Beth was running down the hall as she spoke. Meanwhile, Heyes stumbled to the assistant office where the razor and soap were stashed. Then he went and cleaned up as best he could. Just minutes before class, Beth dashed to the door of Charlie Homer's office with her arms full of men's clothing. Heyes barely managed to tuck in his shirt and get his shoes back on in time to run to class with his arms full of books and papers.

While he had almost no time for friends, Heyes had to make time for certain human beings. Toward his students, he had obligations – on behalf of Charlie Homer. So after class, he had to do his office hours. One of the two women in the class followed him out the door toward his – Charlie's – office to attend his office hours.

"What can I do for you, Miss Horn?" asked Heyes, fighting off a yawn. It was going to be an awful fight to get through this day with so little sleep. He sat, feeling very strange, in Charlie's chair while a rather lovely strawberry blonde student sat in the worn leather chair he had so often occupied himself. This was a student who had not been in Heyes lab section before Huxtable took it over, so she had never talked to him before outside of class.

"I'm enjoying your teaching. I appreciate your calling on the women as much as the man – just the way Professor Homer does. How do you feel about women mathematics students?" the young woman asked with a challenging look into his eyes. Her eyes were a striking green and right now there were fierce sparks in them. "Do you think we can ever do good work – as good as the men?"

"I beg your pardon!" said Heyes, "I don't see how whether you are a man or woman has anything to do with it. Math is math. Good work is good work. From what I can see in your records and have heard from Professor Homer, you do good work, Miss Horn. It is unfortunate that professional opportunities are not the same for women in our society as they are for men. I only hope that will improve as this nation – this world - learns more about justice." Heyes spoke with some heat. He remembered all too vividly the bitter disappointment in Marie Homer's voice as she had spoken about her frustrated ambitions to teach math at the college level. As someone who also might be deprived of the opportunity to do what he loved and did well, he identified keenly with Marie Homer – and now with this young woman who walked in her footsteps.

Karen Horn tried to resist smiling too broadly at her acting professor's attitude toward women students. "I'm very glad to hear that, Mr. Smith. If we get more professors like you, maybe things will get better for us – for women in this country. I'm glad to know that you are fair minded about it. Not everyone is." Heyes noticed that she had a strong Southwestern accent – it sounded like North Texas to him.

"Tell me about it," said Heyes. "Who's been unfair to you?"

"Other than Professor Homer, and my one female professor, who hasn't?" Miss Horn's laughter had an angry edge to it. "There was one professor last year who said that 'girls shouldn't do well at math.' I got an A on every quiz and exam and every paper. And for the class - he gave me a C! He said that was the best a girl should get."

"Good lord!" exclaimed Heyes in genuine surprise. "That's totally unjust! And at this university! Did you appeal the grade?" Heyes supposed that he could guess which of the elderly, conservative professors had done this.

"Yes, Mr. Smith, I did! And I won!" Miss Horn did not hide the triumph in her shining green eyes. "But that was just one class. I have to fight little battles like that all over again in nearly every class – if maybe not quite that obviously. Sometimes it's harder to make an official point of. So when I have a new professor, especially this late in the semester, I just like to know what I'm up against. I'm sorry if I seem over bold but . . ."

Heyes shook his head, "Not at all, Miss Horn! You did the right thing to come to me. With me, like with Professor Homer, I hope you'll find you aren't up against anything except the problems on the page."

"Mr. Smith, if it isn't too prying of me, I understand that you're going to graduate this spring?" Now Miss Horn sounded just a bit less assertive – maybe even almost shy.

"That's right – I hope," Heyes restrained himself from saying, "If I don't get hauled off to prison before then."

Miss Horn continued, "I only hope that you'll think about teaching out West, Mr. Smith. I understand that's where you're from."

Heyes smiled, recognizing the answering light in Miss Horn's eyes. The famous Heyes smile had struck home. Being an engaged man, he didn't mean to do that to girls, but sometimes he couldn't help it. "Yes. I do hope to go back there. They're founding new schools all over the place and I'd like to teach in one of them."

Miss Horn blushed a bit as she said, "Well, then don't forget Texas when you apply. That's where I'm from – Austin, Texas. I'd like to teach math myself one day – if they ever let a woman do that."

"I'm told that UT has a woman teaching German – Jesse Andrews. She should be an inspiration to you. So keep up the good work and you might get farther than you think, Miss Horn!" said Heyes, giving his new student a wink. As the young lady walked out, Heyes' heart was beating rapidly. Not from what an attractive young woman she was – and she was that – but from the thought that he might possibly have helped to inspire a student to do what she was meant to do. Just as Charlie Homer had inspired him. Heyes only prayed that this would be far from the last student he would help on her way. He felt, somehow, that he had done something for Marie Homer, too. Forty years before, she had been just where Miss Horn was. Now, there was the possibility that a woman could find a better professional career than Marie Homer had ever been able to manage. The world had a long way to go in that regard, but things were changing – and Heyes would try to help them change.

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The following Tuesday morning, Heyes was back in his Charlie's, office. Again, he heard a knock on the door that he recognized with disquiet. "Come in, Beth!" called Heyes. "It can't be good news again."

Beth's eyes were streaming. "No," she choked out. "She's gone at last, Heyes."

Heyes broke into tears and held Beth tightly for a long time. But then he looked up and dried his eyes with his handkerchief. "I'm sorry, Beth, but I've got to stop this. I've got the undergrad class in less than an hour. I have to get myself together to teach – somehow. I don't know how I'm ever going to do it. But I have to! For Charlie! I can't even tell them the news – not without Charlie's permission."

Beth kissed her man. "You can do it, Heyes! I know you can. Here, I brought you a fresh handkerchief. But now I'll have to leave, or I'll keep setting you off. You just sit here and find a calm place in your mind."

Heyes nodded, "You're right, Beth. I have to be alone for a while. I just hope no student comes to see me! They don't usually come this early, but you never know."

Heyes sat and just breathed deeply, slowly calming himself a little more with every breath. Then another wave of emotion shook him as he thought about all that Marie had done for him. He found himself reciting verses silently to himself – first one and then another came to him from poems and plays he had found with Beth and in the Morgan library. Shakespeare's words from Hamlet came first:

"Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,  
Passing through nature to eternity."

And from there, he heard in his mind a Bach fugue from a concert he and the Homers had attended. And more verses and more music. He remembered a favorite old song of the Kid's that they had sung as boys. He couldn't remember the words, but the tune made him think of the Kid riding at his side.

And then it was time to go and teach. With only the slightest catch of his breath, Heyes took up his books and went to lecture to his young students. As he walked down the hall, Heyes heard in his mind the words of Emily Dickenson that he had read in a favorite book of Marie Homer's:

"Hope" is the thing with feathers  
That perches in the soul  
And sings the tune without the words  
And never stops at all."

The gifts that his friends had given him were still there, even at the worst.


	43. Chapter 43

It was hard for Heyes to make time for anything besides school as the end of the semester loomed and he raced to finish his class papers, his thesis, and his teaching. But he certainly wasn't going to miss Marie Homer's funeral. He dressed in his best black suit and Beth wore her best black dress. They went side by side, hand in hand. It was impossible for them to forget that, like Marie and Charlie, they might not always have each other. And they were painfully aware that the parting might come very soon.

Heyes kept swallowing, trying desperately not to break down as they walked down the aisle of the big old Gothic church he had at times attended with Charlie and Marie. He and Beth were looking for a pair of empty spots in the crowded pews. They finally found Jim and Neal George sitting a row in front of Paul Huxtable and Ev Carter with his very pretty girlfriend Betsy. The trio smiled sadly and scooted over on the pew to make room for two more.

Looking around the echoing nave, Heyes was amazed to see how very many people had come. Every faculty member that Charlie had taught with and every student that he had taught in the last thirty years must be there, Heyes thought. And then there were the many people who had met Marie through her work with libraries and classical music. Heyes wished that the Kid and Cat could have been there, as had wired that they wanted to. But for the Kid to be seen with his partner by that many Columbia University students, and lots of other people, could have been fatal for both partners.

Finally the organ stopped playing mournfully and the crowd quieted down. Even under such sad circumstances, it was hard to get old school friends to stop talking.

The minister had lots of wonderful things to say about Marie Breckinridge Homer, who had been born in Wyoming 67 years before. She had been a prodigy in school and had gotten more education than most women of her day. She had done wonderful things for the people first of Wyoming, and then of New York, working with music and books.

But the story always came back to Charlie. Finally, the minister summoned the heartbroken widower to the pulpit to speak. At first Charlie, sitting red-nosed in the front pew, shook his head. But then he nodded and climbed up to the pulpit. He took a moment just to look around at his many, many friends gathered there.

"Hello, friends," began Charlie, rather uncertainly in a hoarse voice. "Thanks for coming. Marie would have been touched." He stopped and wiped his eyes. "I'm touched. As the minister said, Marie and I met out West when I was a very young man. I don't know why that lovely young lady agreed to dance with me, and why she stuck around to talk afterwards. I was a pretty wild young man, I have to admit. I kept some very bad company – played too much poker and had a gun on my hip. I might have gone in a very bad direction if Marie hadn't taken hold of me."

Charlie stopped for a moment. He was looking around the pews, looking for something. Or someone. Then he found what he was seeking and gave a small, private smile that was whole heartedly returned. Charlie was looking into Heyes' eyes. Heyes understood what he had not known until that moment – Charlie was telling him that he had almost become an outlaw – like Heyes. "Yes, I was wild. But Marie taught me what no one else had been able to – that I didn't have to be wild to be free." Charlie stopped again and cleared his throat. "With Marie, I always felt free. I just never felt alone."

"She had a hard time doing it, but she finally got it through my head that college was the course for me. That I could be a leader – in a good direction rather than a bad one. If anyone thinks that a woman can't lead except as a mother, they're wrong. She led me from a destructive path to a good one. She would have made a wonderful professor herself, but no one would give her a chance, in the old days. So she worked with me every day on my teaching. She was my co-teacher in every class I ever taught."

"And she put up with all kinds of things. I hear that it's a man's right to bring home whoever he likes for dinner. Well I brought home some pretty strange people. Scholars – politicians - peddlers – beggars – thieves." Heyes, recognizing himself and the Kid, squeezed Beth's hand. He still felt guilty about putting the Homers in that much danger. "And Marie welcomed them all. Nobody ever frightened her – not for a moment. We hosted some people who would've frightened most folks." Heyes was sure that Charlie meant the Kid – and maybe others he didn't know about. Marie had never been frightened of Heyes or his partner for a moment. "Marie, I don't have to tell you, was a wonderful hostess. It wasn't just that she threw a great party. She cooked for the hungry, nursed the sick, bandaged the injured, and comforted the troubled – and all of those have included me!" Heyes, like many in the crowd, was nodding. It was so true. They had all included him, as well!

"Homer men are kind'a reckless – our son George sure was." Heyes and Beth looked at each other in surprise. Like many there, neither one had known that the Homers had had a son. "George was smart – he could have been a great teacher . . . if he had lived. But he couldn't stay home when everyone was going to defend the Union. He was brave. He was also reckless. That's what his commanding officer told me when he wrote from Gettysburg with the news . . ." Charlie had to stop to blow his nose and clear his throat. "I'm sorry. That was twenty-eight years ago now – hard to believe – it seems like yesterday. Marie was as brave as she could be, when she heard. I'd never have made it through without her.

I'm tempted to say that I don't know how I'll make it now, except so many of you have told me that you'll stand by me. And here we are in the house of the one who stands by us all. Thank you. And God bless you." Then Charlie sat down, with tears in his eyes but a smile on his face.

There was a pause. Then the choir began to sing a song listed in the program as Marie's favorite – Schubert's _Ave Maria_. As the young soloist sang the soaring melody, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. This song of tribute to a protecting lady seemed the perfect closing.

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After that, Heyes had a harder and harder time continuing with his work. He struggled through graduate paper after graduate paper. He wrote up his last lectures and guided his young students toward their final exams. And, with a lot of guidance and help from Charlie, he read through and graded the undergraduate and graduate papers.

But one last paper and the final polishing and writing up of the thesis still remained and Heyes was so exhausted, mentally and physically and spiritually, too. Even with Matt Peale's encouragement and help, he couldn't get his mind around it.

Heyes went to see Charlie Homer at his apartment. It felt terribly empty without Marie bustling around. Charlie looked like a faint, grey ghost of his former self. The two men sat sipping from cups of rather bad tea and eating hard biscuits that Charlie had fixed. Cooking was not his strong point – it was only one of the ways that he missed his wife desperately.

"Charlie," said Heyes slowly, knuckling eyes that had dark circles under them, "You're the last person I should say it to, but I just don't see how I can make it through everything in time. I need more time for the thesis. I just can't do it right now."

Charlie smiled at his prize student from tired but understanding eyes, still a bit red. "I understand perfectly, Heyes. There comes a point when you've thought so much and so fast for so long that your brain kind of grinds to a halt. You need a bit of rest.

I'm ready to come back, if it doesn't offend you for me to swoop in and take over when you and Paul and Hans have really done the hard work already. I'll take charge of the assistants and correct the final exams, alright? And I'll ask the grad school dean for permission to take your last paper a little late, and your thesis as well. Considering all you've done for me, and for Columbia, none of that is outrageous at all. In fact, I kind of need to get back to work. The distraction, you know – and the routine . . ."

Heyes exhaled with relief, "Thank you, Charlie! I really appreciate that. I might actually be able to sleep tonight – if the dean says yes."

"He will, Heyes. In fact, he already did, in principle. I already asked the Dean about getting you some more time. We just need to work out the specifics. We're both worried about you. Of course, I know better than he does why we need to worry. Dean Hager from Columbia College is worried, too. So go home and sleep and take tomorrow off. Just go riding or take a walk or just sleep the day away. I know you need it. Then you can concentrate on that last paper and the thesis. I know you have both of them nearly done. Just not quite up to your standards of perfection." Professor Homer smiled encouragingly at Heyes, who smiled back. But neither smile was very bright. They both knew that this delay could mean that Heyes would be arrested before he would have the chance to finish the semester.

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Heyes took a walk in Central Park, all by himself, on the lovely April day that he took off between all of his academic responsibilities. He needed to get away and forget his fears, both academic and legal. But his concerns chased him. As he walked down the green-lined paths fragrant with spring flowers, he kept finding himself looking over his shoulder. He wondered if officer Tryon was still on duty there, although he had been in the park dozens of times and not seen the man.

Finally, Heyes couldn't stand it any longer. He went to find Huxtable. As usual the young man was working in his little assistant's office. Heyes told him, "Charlie's coming back, Missouri. He'll do all the exam stuff with you. It's been a privilege working with you. You're the best. Thank you for everything!"

Huxtable looked at him uneasily. "You're real welcome, Smith. But you sound almost like you're saying good-bye. You aren't going someplace yet, are you?"

Heyes shook his head, with his eyes looking very distant. "Not that I know of. But it has to be soon. No one's told me when. I guess they can't." Both men knew what they meant – Heyes' trial.

Huxtable looked terribly anxious. "You'll make it, Kansas! I know you will! You have to! It'd be just terrible for you to do all this work, and do so well, and have such great ideas and then . . ."

Heyes focuses his tired eyes on his young carrot-topped friend. "There's a lot of injustice in this world, Paul. Being tried by a fair judge and jury isn't unjust. Considering what I used to do, before you met me, it's about time I gave account in court. Then, maybe I'll get a chance to go on with my life. Or maybe not. I guess you could see justice on either side. The people who lost money to me, and the woman I widowed, wouldn't mind seeing me inside for the rest of my days – or hanged. The people I'd teach, and my friends, would just as soon have me out doing my best in the world." Heyes shrugged. "I've stopped trying to figure it out. I'm just trying to get through."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes labored every day with the dread of being suddenly interrupted by the law. But he wrote at the neat little desk in his rented room and finally finished the lone remaining paper. The law didn't come.

Heyes worked with Matt Peale, who understood the threat under which he worked all too, to finish the thesis. Finally Heyes got to the part only he could do. Writing it out in long hand, page after page, stopped to correct it, and then going on and re-writing it. Heyes worked until fingers and wrist were wore into limp, painful exhaustion. But finally it was done.

Heyes walked down the city street with the bundle under his arm, still looking over his should. He went to Charlie's office and turned in the thick stack of sheets. His advisor, as he returned to familiar routines, was finally starting to look a bit more like himself. Charlie shook Heyes's hand and said, "Congratulations, Heyes! Or Joshua Smith, I should say, since that's the name on there. Maybe it's the last time you'll ever sign anything with that alias. Good luck. We'll get you those grades as soon as we can. But with the load of grading going on, realistically – it can't be less than five days. Try to relax while you're waiting."

Heyes felt a bit better as he walked out, unaware that he was limping slightly from sheer exhaustion. He was done. It seemed very strange after all these years in school. Now he had only to wait for his grades. And the law.

Even as Heyes started to walk down the hall from Charlie's office – which had been his own for a few weeks – he saw one of the sights he dreaded most. A telegram delivery boy stood waiting for him. "Joshua Smith?" the blonde teenager asked.

Heyes, with dread, said, "Yes." He accepted and paid for the telegram, then walked agitatedly down the hall in search of an empty teaching assistant office to sit and read it in. It was marked "Extremely private."

With his heart pounding, Heyes pushed in a door to one of the little unoccupied offices. He looked at the telegram. It said:

To Joshua Smith, Columbia University, Graduate College of Arts and Sciences

do not flinch stop do not fail stop never never never give up stop

FW

Heyes just stared at the little slip of paper. Of all of the unlikely telegrams that Heyes had sent and received in the past few years, this had to be the most terrifying. FW was certainly Francis Warren, the Wyoming senator who had once been governor. There could be no doubt of what he was warning Heyes about. But that he would think to send such a message seemed totally strange to Heyes. Did the man actually care? Did he think that there was still a chance?

Heyes stuck the little slip of paper into his pocket and ran down the hall to Charlie's office. "Charlie!" he called, knocking, "let me in right now!"

The door flew opened. As soon as Heyes was inside and the door was closed, Charlie asked anxiously, "What is it, Heyes? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I have," said Heyes with a swallow.

"Well, whose?" asked Homer impatiently.

"Mine."

Charlie's head went up. "You're gonna' have to explain that one to me, Heyes."

"I got a warning – from Warren. Have a look." He put the wrinkled slip of paper on Charlie's desk. When Homer looked up from reading it, Heyes said, "It's coming. Has to be real soon. So if you look for me and don't find me – you'll know where I am."

Charlie spoke in a pained monotone. "Montana. In a courtroom. Or in jail."

Heyes nodded, "Yeah."

Charlie reached over the table to shake the hand of his prize student and friend. "Good luck, Heyes. I hope to God you get a fair judge and jury – and four reasonable governors."

Heyes grimaced. "Me, too! Don't come, Charlie. And please for God's sake don't let Beth come. Or any of the Columbia boys. If I'm going down, I want to go down alone. I've done too much damage already."

Charlie wouldn't accept any of that. "We're your friends, Heyes! We won't leave you alone when you need us!"

Heyes sighed deeply. "I'm back to being powerless again, sounds like."

"If you mean powerless to sacrifice yourself for nothing, yeah, you're powerless. If you want power to live, we'll give you all we've got, Hannibal Heyes!" Charlie thumped Heyes on the back and tried to look as encouraging and supportive as he could. But he couldn't help looking frightened as well.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes went from Charlie's office to the telegraph office, ready to send a warning to the Kid and Lom Trevors. But he found message from them both waiting for him - Warren had been in touch with them both. Heyes simply let them both know his latest school news and that he had gotten Warren's message.

That night Beth and Heyes had dinner with Charlie Homer at his place. Beth took pity on the men and did the cooking herself. After all time she had spent there, she knew the kitchen well.

After a rather tense and quiet dinner, the two men spoke while Beth did the dishes. This was, transparently, just to give the two men a chance to talk in decent privacy. "I don't know what to do now, Charlie. Just keep my head down and stay very quiet, I guess."

Charlie spoke authoritatively. "You can't just go into hiding. The law has to know where to find you, or they'll think you're on the lamb again."

"I know. I'd make 'em sure I was guilty." Heyes looked terribly guilty as he spoke and sipped a cup of Beth's good coffee.

Charlie smiled at him, "Go have some fun, Heyes. Be with Beth. God only knows when you'll get to do it again. If you graduate and get a job, I mean, you'll be damn busy. . ."

After all his years of work, this seemed very strange advice to Heyes. "But I've got to be responsible – work toward . . ."

"Not now! You're a young man, Heyes . . ." Charlie tried to stay upbeat, but Heyes cynically interrupted him.

"Not that young, Charlie. I feel . . ." Heyes looked grey with exhaustion and tension.

"You're awful young compared to me, Heyes!" some Charlie Homer with a forced laugh. "Now go out and enjoy it. You'll get your grades and be fine, but in the mean time, there's no reason you shouldn't take a break. There's absolutely nothing you can do about the trial. So go dancing with your sweetie or something."

Beth had come back in from the kitchen and she put her arms around Heyes from behind and kissed his cheek. "I'd like that, honey!"

So that's exactly what Heyes and Beth did. They just spent the days in the gardens of Central park being together, or went to art shows. One night they went to a chamber music concert. They always made sure that Charlie and Dr. Leutze knew where they were so that if anyone came looking, there would be no appearance that Heyes was trying to avoid being found.

The night before he expected his grades, Heyes felt particularly tense and nervous. Graduation was only a week away and he still was not officially cleared to graduate. Day after day he waited for his grades and for the law.

There was an outdoor dance scheduled in Central Park that evening, just like on the day that Heyes and Beth had first danced together – and parted with such drama – four years before. In fact, Beth arrived on Heyes' arm wearing the same flattering low-cut burgundy dress she had worn the first time they had danced. Heyes smiled with amazed delight when he saw Matt Peale, Ev Carter, Neal George, and even young Paul Huxtable, all there with lovely young ladies on their arms. The group of ten young men and women gathered off the dance floor under the trees to say hello and make introductions back and forth. Heyes could see his male friends looking at him with worry, but none of the women other than Beth was aware of the potential danger that hovered over Joshua Smith.

The only ones of the women that Heyes had met before were Betsy Holbein, Ev Carter's lovely brunette fiancé, and the school librarian Marcie Johnson who had been dating Neal George since the previous summer. Matt Peale had brought a lovely shop girl named Eva Driscoll whom he had been seeing for only a few weeks. A blushing Huxtable seemed unable to quite believe that he had been able to convince the formidable mathematics student Karen Horn to go with him for the very first time. She smiled so warmly at Heyes that her previous acting professor wondered guiltily if the stunning strawberry blonde had accepted Huxtable's invitation just for the chance to dance in proximity to the charming Mr. Smith.

Heyes and Beth stayed on the side watching their friends happily dancing a set of vigorous square dances. Then the little orchestra played a fast polka that Heyes said, very honestly, that he wasn't up to dancing to. So once again, Heyes and Beth just held hands and listened to the music while their crowd of friends danced happily, always staying together.

Then the orchestra took up a slow old country waltz. Heyes smiled at the song. "Now that one, I think I might be able to manage. Beth, if you would like to. My mother used to play it on guitar at barn dances."

Beth smiled as the pair swept onto the floor together. It was only the second time that Heyes had ever mentioned his mother to her. Beth and Heyes both tried to just forget their fears and enjoy moving in each other's arms surrounded by smiling friends. They whirled together, losing themselves in the happy moment.

Suddenly, Heyes stopped dancing and pulled back from Beth, his eyes fixed on something beyond her shoulder. "Get away from me!" he growled at her.

Beth's mouth dropped open in shock. "Honey!" she cried. The four couples of friend around them also halted suddenly, staring at Heyes. The men knew all too well what was happening, but their girls were utterly baffled. Peale, Carter, George, and Huxtable all quietly warned their girls to withdraw to safety, but they remained in a protective ring around Heyes and Beth. Karen Horn was especially upset, refusing to move away until Betsy bodily pulled her.

Heyes' eyes had gone as hard as stones. "Get away, Beth! Guys, get out of here! I mean it! They're coming for me and I don't want any of you caught up in it!"

"Darling, you're my fiancé. I'm caught up in anything about you. I'm staying right here," Beth said defiantly, clinging to her man's hand. Heyes' friends remained where they were.

An all too familiar form in blue approached Heyes with a hard smile on his face and four other men with him. It was Officer Tryon. The four men behind him had Colts drawn in their hands. Each wore a tin star encircled by a band inscribed "U.S. Marshal."

A larger group of officers in blue pushed the dancers back from all around Heyes and Beth, pulling out their Billy clubs. The orchestra members took up their instruments and fled, while the dancers moved away as fast as they could. No New Yorker was ignorant enough to stay and gawk in a situation as obviously dangerous as this one

The five law men, guns in hand, stepped past Heyes' friends, forcing them back with extended arms. The four men from Columbia, and Beth and Heyes themselves, were now the only others near enough to hear what was said unless it was shouted.

Tryon, his eyes blazing in triumph, stated quietly, "You are Hannibal Heyes." Peale looked appalled to hear this long secret name brought into the open, but his shock was nothing compared to what he saw in the panicked faces of Carter, George, and Huxtable.

The young Missourian turned so white that they thought he might faint as his friend Joshua Smith put his hands up and calmly said, "Yes, I am."

"Get back!" said one of the men with a star on his chest. Heyes friends, seeing that they couldn't help him, complied. Heyes nodded firmly for Beth to join them. Sobbing, she withdrew. Neal George put an arm around her protectively. From a safe distance, the five friends watched and listened closely to this terrible scene they had so long dreaded.

One of the marshals stepped forward, a six-gun cocked in his hand. He said, quietly, "Hannibal Heyes, I am here from Montana to arrest you for the murder of Sean Gunther the third."

Beth gasped, "No!"

Heyes stood like a statue, hands up, in silence. His eyes, locked on the cold blue eyes of the man with the gun, showed no sign of fear or anger - or anything else.

'You can't take him! He's . . ." Ev Carter started to say.

But Heyes himself cut him off, "Let these men do their duty, Ev. This is justice."

One of the marshals patted Heyes down and removed a small pistol from inside his blazer. Another marshal came forward with handcuffs. Heyes put his wrists together in front of him, but the man and the other marshal roughly grabbed the outlaw's hands and pulled them behind him. They were taking no chances. Heyes did not struggle, although he knew well how awkward and uncomfortable it was to have his hands held together behind his back.

"Don't forget the boots," Heyes said.

"What?" asked Tryon.

"Search my boots," said Heyes, the tiniest hint of impatience in his voice. The marshals took off one shining black boot at a time. In a subtly tailored sheath along the side of the right boot they found a long, slender knife. In the sheath on the side of the other boot was a group of long pick locks. The marshals were about to put the boots back onto their suspect, when Heyes told them, "The heels. Look in the heels."

Beth sobbed on Neal's shoulder. Inside little compartments in the heels of Heyes' boots the men found two tiny bundles of picklocks. The marshal who was searching the boots looked up at the infamous outlaw with respect. He and his colleagues now realized that Hannibal Heyes had left himself utterly without any recourse – except within the law. He truly had gone straight. No more jail breaks for Hannibal Heyes.

"Come on Heyes!" Said the marshal from Montana, as a colleague pushed the helpless outlaw forward. "We got us a train to Montana to catch."

Heyes said dryly, "Officers, could I please have just a minute to say good-bye to my friends and kiss my gal? We might not meet again."

"One minute, Heyes, no more!" said the Montana marshal. The four friends from Columbia came as close as they dared, with the marshals keeping them far enough away that they couldn't touch Heyes.

"Good-bye boys," said Heyes, fighting with only decent success to keep his voice from trembling, "You've all been the best friends a guy ever had. It's not fair that I had to lie to you. I'm sorry. Good luck, Ev, NG, Peale. Hang in there, Missouri. Teach 'em well for me."

"You'll come back . . ." NG began, but Heyes interrupted him.

"Just Heyes, NG," said the former outlaw. "The first name has too much blood all over it."

"Good luck, Heyes!" said NG.

"Take care!" said Ev, unable to make himself say that infamous name. "You have to come back!"

"You'll make it, Heyes!" said Peale. "You always have!"

Huxtable was hardly able to speak at all. "You can't really be . . ."

"Yes, I really am, Missouri. My name is Hannibal Heyes and I'm going to be tried for my life."

"Josh!" was all that Huxtable could say in a strangled voice.

His friend in handcuffs caught his breath with a struggle, "Tell Charlie and Dr. Leutze and Jim and Tom . . . everyone good-bye. I'm sorry for the lies." Heyes' head dropped to his chest. "Beth!" he whispered hoarsely.

Beth fought past the marshal and put her arms around her man. They shared a long, deep kiss, until the marshals pulled them apart.

The Montana marshal growled, "Enough, Heyes! We're going! Got to catch that train West." The marshals pushed Heyes stumbling forward. Their guns were still drawn.

Soon Joshua Smith's sobbing friends saw him awkwardly boosted into a paddy wagon pulled by two black horses. The driver lashed them into a gallop. In minutes the paddy wagon was out of sight.


	44. Chapter 44

"Heyes!" Beth called softly in misery as the police wagon pulled away. "Oh, my darling, what are they doing to you?" Neal George went to her and she wept helplessly on his shoulder. He put an arm around her protectively and struggled with tears himself.

The Columbia boys stood, stunned and silent. The park around them was in noisy chaos as dancers who were wondering if the dance would start over and musicians who were wondering whether they would still need to play and whether they would be paid were wandering all over. Everyone was talking about the sensational arrest. Since no one had been close enough to hear the name of the man taken, everyone was speculating on who he was. The presence of four western marshals with drawn Colts had certainly suggested to a lot of people that the arrested man had come from the West.

"Oh my God!" said Ev Carter to no one in particular, since they were too far from any strangers for their words to be heard, "Smith . . . I mean Heyes. He couldn't possibly really be a murderer, could he? I don't care what he did out west – he wouldn't kill anyone! Would he? I mean, he's famous for not killing people, right?"

Huxtable still looked very shaken. But he corrected Carter in a soft, agonized voice. "Not anymore. He did kill a man. He told me. He said it was self-defense. But he would say that, wouldn't he?"

"Huxtable!" hissed Peale in fury.

Beth looked up at the young man, moving swiftly from sorrow to rage. "It was self-defense! How could someone I thought was a friend doubt that?"

"Beth, he's a criminal!" said Huxtable, sounding even more upset, "He might say anything. He said he'd been lying to us and he had!"

Beth understood Huxtable's point of view, but she was still angry, "He had to lie, Paul. Don't you see that? He had no choice at all. He was a criminal. But he isn't any more! He and the Kid have been straight for more than seven years, waiting for amnesty that never comes. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Being straight and still being wanted dead or alive with a $15,000 reward on each of their heads? They can't do anything . . ."

But the two had to stop their argument as the Columbians got close enough to their girls that the young women could have heard them. Beth whispered to the group of friends, "Still keep that name a secret! It could be life or death for them both!" It took a moment for the Columbians to all realize that by "them both" she meant Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. After all, Beth and Matt Peale were the only ones of the group who had ever met the Kid. Before that evening none of the others had even suspected his existence in Joshua Smith's life.

As the young men approached the girls they had brought to the dance, Karen Horn, the Texas mathematics student, spoke up first. "What on earth just happened? Why did they arrest Joshua Smith? Where are they taking him?"

There was a tense pause while the Columbians wondered how they could answer this without giving Heyes away or lying too blatantly. The men who had just learned their friend's real name were suddenly starting to understand what Heyes had been up against for the past seven and a half years. They could begin to see why he had given them such heart-felt apologies about the lies he had been obliged to tell.

Only one person had the authority to decide how much to reveal. "Karen," said Beth gently, "those were federal marshals. They arrested Joshua for murder."

"Murder!" Karen was devastated.

"He's innocent!" Beth glared at Huxtable for a second. Then she looked back at Karen and the obviously distressed Betsy and the other women. Betsy knew Joshua well – or she had thought she did. "It happened three years ago in Montana. It was self-defense. The man fired at him first. Everyone involved in the case knows that it was self-defense. But he still has to stand trial. There's a lot that we can't explain to you – any of you - now without endangering his fair trial. When we can tell you, we will. But right now, please just keep it quiet. Otherwise, justice can't be served."

Each of the young men went to his girl to calm her down and see her home. Betsy was in tears and Ev just held her for a while before they went anywhere. Eva, who had scarcely met Joshua Smith was mostly just confused and frightened, so Peale put his arm around her and comforted her in near silence as they walked. Huxtable was unsure what to do about the shocked and perplexed Karen who was far more interested in Paul's older friend than in her date himself. He just held her hand they walked to Karen's apartment without Huxtable saying much at all.

For a while, Neal George had a weeping woman on each shoulder, with Eva near to fainting and Beth still needing support. But soon Beth realized that she couldn't claim NG's attentions any longer. She had things to do. "Let's meet at Charlie's place – after we've taken our girls home," said Neal. As the oldest, he had naturally taken over the leadership of their tight little group.

"I'm going to see Dr. Leutze, but I'll see you later at Charlie's," said Beth, wiping her eyes and falling into the brisk, business-like mode that she used when she had a hard time coping with the world.

Beth only very rarely bothered Dr. Leutze outside of the clinic, but she knew where he lived. By the time she knocked on the door of his plain little apartment, it was getting dark out and a chilly breeze made her shiver in her revealing dress. Dr. Leutze opened the door with some concern, when he saw Beth alone and evidently dressed for company. He knew well what had been hanging over Heyes, so he could guess what brought Beth out without him.

"Beth, is he gone?" Leutze asked gently as he escorted his clinic's tutor inside to sit on an armchair in his small sitting room.

Beth nodded and tears ran down her cheeks. "They took him from the dance. It was four marshals and a New York policeman. They were so rough with him! And he didn't resist them at all! They had a good dozen other men there to keep the dancers out of the way. They weren't going to let anything stop them. But he didn't even try. He even told them where to find his knife and his pick locks." Beth broke down and the doctor held her while she wept.

"It'll be alright, Beth," he murmured. "Heyes knew that he had to go all straight. Otherwise, he and the Kid would never get that amnesty. And he wants that more than anything."

"I know, but I hate to see him so helpless and treated so harshly! He kissed me and they dragged him away in handcuffs, with everyone staring. It was awful! I know it'll be in the papers! And that could disastrous for them both!" Beth broke into tears again, and the doctor held her in a soft embrace like a father with his daughter.

"I'm sorry to go to pieces," Beth started,

"I don't blame you at all," said the doctor. "It sounds shattering."

Beth pulled herself together to say, "Doctor, if you want to come, Heyes' Columbia friends are going to meet over at Charlie Homer's place. And we'll want Jim to come, too. Charlie has to know, and we all need to figure out what to do. I know what I'm going to do – I'm taking the first train to Montana in the morning so I can testify and help Heyes any way that I can. Heyes begged me not to go, but he knows I'm going to. My place is with him! He said that they could force me to testify against him because we're not married, but I don't know anything against him! I only know good things about him, and how could that hurt?"

"Be careful, Beth dear," said Dr. Leutze, "the court could make it very obvious just how . . . close your relationship is."

Beth spoke up sharply, "I don't care, Doctor. Do you think I'd sacrifice his life or his freedom to keep my good name?"

"Well, I can promise you one thing. I won't fire you over it," said the doctor, "despite the official policy."

"Thank you!" said Beth, "I hoped you wouldn't. I hope soon we'll be able to be married so I would have to leave anyway, but first he has to not get hung and then he has to get amnesty. And I'm not assuming either one of those things. It's going to take work."

Dr. Leutze called a cab to carry himself and Beth to Charlie Homer's apartment, which seemed to have become the club house for the friends of Hannibal Heyes. On the way, they stopped at Jim's room and picked him up. He was terribly upset at the news about Heyes' arrest, but not surprised.

As they got into the cab, Jim said, "I'm awful sorry about that, B-Beth! So they finally got him. He's been looking over his shoulder for so long. And he d-doesn't even have his final grades yet, does he?"

They were the first to arrive at Charlie Homer's place. Beth knocked at the door, with the Doctor and Jim just behind her. Charlie looked tired and worried as he opened the door. "So they took him?" he asked as he motioned for the three to come in.

"Yes! How did you know?" asked Beth as the door closed behind her.

"Because the police were here not an hour ago. I told them where to find him," said Charlie softly.

"What!?" cried Jim.

Charlie nodded grimly. "I felt like Judas himself."

"But you had to tell them Charlie!" said Beth. "I know it's what Heyes asked you to do, and for good reason."

Charlie sighed. "If we had hidden where he was, Jim, the authorities would have assumed he was hiding from them. They might even have shot him down. Heyes understood that."

Dr. Leutze added, "I've been keeping track of his movements for the same reason – in case the law asked me first. We figured the law would come to one or the other of us – in fact, we made sure they would. We wrote to the governors and told them what we were doing. If the marshals were rough with Heyes, it was for show, for the public. They knew he wouldn't resist arrest. Or they hoped not – in that public a place, with a man famous for not hurting anyone. Except the one . . ."

Charlie seated the trio in his parlor. In minutes Matthias arrived and they gathered more chairs from the dining room, knowing there would be a large group gathering. Soon Ev, Huxtable, and NG arrived, still looking terribly shaken. It was very strange to have the eight of them together without the usual ninth who had come to be the center of so warm a group of friends. And of course they still missed the tenth who was now gone beyond all but memory. They hadn't been seated long when the doorbell rang.

Charlie looked out cautiously – who else could know about this gathering? Or would it be someone for another reason entirely, from whom this meeting needed to be kept secret? Or was the law back?

Charlie went to the door cautiously and peeked out. It was Professor Diana Hargrove, Heyes' favorite English professor. She was dressed as if she, too, had come from a dance. She looked terribly concerned – obviously, she knew what they were there about. So Charlie let her in, knowing how much Heyes trusted the woman. The gathered breathed a sigh of relief. But everyone looked at everyone else – who had told Professor Hargrove?

"Don't worry who told me," said the tall lady professor with unexpected calmness, looking around at all of the people gathered there, as she stood in the middle of the room. "I was in the park and saw them dragging Joshua Smith away. Except that isn't his real name, is it?"

Charlie looked hard at his colleague. "Come on," she said, looking around the tense, expectant faces around her, "you don't think I know how to keep a secret? How to deal with things the rest of society finds improper? I've suspected for a long time that there were some improper things about our western genius. And you know I would never do anything to put him in even more danger – not that that's very possible, now."

Charlie looked at Beth, "Well, Beth, I think it's up to you. Can we tell her? Do you think he would approve?"

Beth didn't hesitate long before she nodded, "Yes, I think he would. We had even talked about it, but he never tells anyone without really needing to. Alright, Dr. Hargrove. You just have to know that, even now, having what I'm about to tell you get out too far could cost him, and his partner, their lives – or at the least, later on, their careers."

"His partner? A partner in crime?" She asked, very frankly, and sounding not at all shocked.

"Formerly in crime. They led of gang in armed robbery for many years, but they've been straight for more than seven years. They're going for amnesty, and the governors of four different states keep dangling it just out of reach."

Professor Hargrove looked appalled by this. "It sounds wretched! No wonder he's always so careful about everything. What's his real name? I'm no devotee of cheap western fiction, so I doubt I've heard it before."

Jim, a bit offended at the slam at his favorite brand of reading, asked, incredulously, "So you're saying never heard of Hannibal Heyes and K-Kid C-Curry?"

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Professor Hargrove, putting one hand to her mouth. Charlie was taken aback to see his hard-nosed colleague so upset. He made a space for her on the couch and she quickly sat down.

"I've been teaching English literature to a notorious criminal!" she began to laugh faintly at how ridiculous it sounded. "And now they're taking him away to stand trial on God knows how many counts of armed robbery?"

"No. Murder," said Professor Homer. Seeing the real distress on Dr. Hargrove's face, he hastened to add, "It was self-defense, and defense of his partner. Someone had, well I know it sounds like an awful pun, but they had kidnapped Jedediah Curry and were holding him hostage. They were just waiting for Heyes to come and get him so they could catch the pair and turn them in for the $30,000 in reward money. I was actually along on that trip to free the Kid. I could just as easily have pulled the trigger myself."

"I was there, t-too!" piped up Jim proudly.

Charlie smiled indulgently at the young man and continued his story, "So I'll go up to Montana to testify in Heyes' defense,"

"Me too!" added Jim.

"As I was saying," continued Charlie, "I'll testify - although Heyes doesn't want me to. He prefers to be a dead hero rather than to put any friends at risk, which I call darned inconsiderate of the man. He is engaged to be married, after all. And the Kid's fate does probably hinge on his, and the Kid's engaged, too, by the way."

"The Kid's going up to testify, isn't he? He has to!" said Beth with concern.

"Of course he is!" answered Charlie. "You'd hardly stop him. I just hope Cat – that's the Kid's fiancé, Diana – I hope she doesn't go. She had nothing to do with that little venture of ours. But she'll want to support the Kid, of course."

"Wait," said Neal George, "How did we all manage never to know that J . . . that Heyes had a partner? I mean everyone knows that Hannibal Heyes has a partner, but none of us knew that our friend Joshua Smith did. Didn't the Kid ever come to New York to see Heyes? Or didn't Heyes ever go to see him?"

"Who do you think Heyes goes and stays with in Colorado every holiday?" asked Doctor Leutze with a sly smile. "I met the two of them together at a poker table in Louisville, Colorado. Back when Heyes couldn't say a word." The doctor had known the truth longer than anyone there.

"I thought it was his cousin he was visiting," said Ev Carter, defensively. "That's what he told us."

"The Kid is his cousin – his second cousin," said Beth, "thought they've kept that a secret. And yes, Jed came to New York. When Heyes had pneumonia and was shot he stayed here with Charlie and Marie for weeks while he and Heyes were healing up."

"Shot!" exclaimed several voices together.

Charlie nodded, "Yes, shot in the hip – he never fell off his horse. Or actually, he did, but that was when he got soaked in a mountain stream and got pneumonia – he didn't get the bullet in the hip until days later. Marie bandaged that hip so carefully . . . and the Kid's hand and arm, too." Charlie's voice trailed off and he honked into his handkerchief.

"Remember when it was all in the papers about the gunfight on the train and Heyes' death? Well, it all really happened except that Heyes didn't quite die," Beth finished the tale.

"Wait a minute, if Kid Curry was here for weeks staying with Charlie and Marie, how come none of us ever met him?" asked Huxtable, who had been staying very quiet and feeling terrible at having doubted a man that he and so many other people clearly loved and cherished.

"Because he knows how to stay under wraps! Jed wanted very much to meet you all," said Beth, "but he didn't dare. The two of them had just been in the papers so much, and they are kind of obvious when you put them together. The Kid's terribly good looking – and with that bandage on his wrist and his arm in a sling . . ."

"Wow, Kid Curry wanted to meet us!" said Ev Carter. "A man that dangerous . . ."

"Jed Curry is one of the best, nicest, more trust-worthy men I've ever met in my life!" asserted Beth passionately. "And Heyes loves him like a brother!"

"So, what are we going to do for those two good, nice, trust-worthy men?" asked Dr. Leutze. "I suspect that Heyes and the Kid both will need character witnesses, since the question of it was murder or self-defense will rest almost entirely on the words of those two wanted criminals. There is some physical evidence on their side, I understand . . ."

"That's right," said Jim. "A bullet in a wall, and some other stuff. Heyes t-told me about something called fingerprints that might b-be real helpful to them. And some marks in the mud that won't help unless the sheriff came fast and looked real carefully."

"Explain to me, please," said Dr. Hargrove, "exactly what is happening to this unfortunately and colorful young genius and what we expect to happen – I'm catching up to this very rapidly from almost nothing, you know."

Charlie Homer, who had the most information, summed up the tale thus, "Heyes is charged with murder of one of the kidnapping conspirators in Montana – a nasty character named Sean Gunther. Heyes shot him dead, alright – the only man he has ever killed, by the way. But, as Jim says, there's some evidence, and the Kid as witness, that it was self-defense. There was a previous trial where they determined that it was a criminal conspiracy and that they had earlier committed at least one murder. The dirty deputy swung for it. So we already know that the man Heyes killed was at least potentially a killer.

But if our friend Heyes manages to get acquitted of murder, that's only the first hurdle. He – and presumably his partner Jed Curry could get hauled off to stand trial for what I believe Heyes said was 43 counts of armed robbery. At 20 years each, depending upon the state, and with other assorted counts of breaking and entering, jail break, etc. added in – well, let's just say we're all praying for the amnesty. Otherwise the boys would be in prison at hard labor till doomsday.

There are four western governors who need to get together to rule on the amnesty and we're particularly worried about James Hogg, newly elected in Texas."

Professor Hargrove nodded. They could see her turning over all of these rather shocking revelations in her head analytically. "Could someone please explain to me why four presumably sane governors would give amnesty to a pair of notorious outlaws who must have stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars?"

Beth described the case with understandable pride and passion. "As I understand it, the amnesty program began in Wyoming – where the Devil's Hole gang was headquartered. The governor calculated that it was far easier and cheaper to bribe them out of business with amnesty than to catch them. Lawmen there had, after all, been chasing Heyes and the Kid and company for seven years and never managed to put them away. They caught Heyes and the Kid a few times, but they're very slippery, our boys. Heyes, in particular, can get past almost any lock ever devised. Did you see those bundles of pick locks? He made them all himself, from when he was just a boy.

And once our boys turned good, they turned really good. They've caught and turned in several criminals, including murders, often at considerable risk to themselves and their freedom. And while Heyes calculates that they stole about $850,000 in their careers (he could tell you to the penny, of course), they've turned in well over a million stolen by other people. And now that Heyes plans to teach college mathematics – which, as you know, is desperately needed out West – and the Kid is working for the law . . . Well, it seems to me that it's a lot better having those guys out benefitting the community than behind bars."

Professor Hargrove whistled. "Wow! By those arguments, why on earth wouldn't they get amnesty?"

Dr. Leutze laughed. "Can't you guess? From four governors? One word – politics!"

Charlie nodded. "Hogg is a famous law and order man. He got shot in the back by some outlaws once – not our outlaws of course – and he's been out for outlaw blood ever since. And he might not be the only problem – Colorado would benefit from the Kid as a sheriff, and Wyoming from having the stain of Heyes' and Kids' names removed from their list of notorious outlaws at large. But for Montana, Heyes is just a possible murderer with no real upside – except that he's popular with the public. And so is his partner. You know Heyes. His partner's just as charming and, as Beth observes, very good looking. I believe the operative word is charisma."

Diana Hargrove nodded. "I see. That sums it up very neatly. It sounds like the biggest risk is the murder trial. What kind of arrangements are there for a lawyer?"

Matthias Peale now spoke up. "Those of us who knew this was coming have been getting up a fund for the best lawyer in Montana. There aren't that many to choose from. There aren't many people of any kind in Montana, actually. My parents live there and I visit them every year, so I know. If you'll all promise to keep it under wraps, I can tell you why I have a special interest in this."

"Alright, Peale – I think we'll all promise. . .To keep your secrets just like we do Heyes' secrets," said Neal George, looking around at nods from everyone present, "What is your interest – other than working with Heyes on his thesis and being his friend?"

Peale looked around for a moment and gathered his courage to let out a secret that he had kept from almost everyone for his whole life. "My father was the dynamite man with the Devil's Hole gang before Heyes was – or actually, he was there three years before Heyes joined up. Pa went straight just before I was born. Heyes and the Kid say he was one of their main inspirations for thinking it could done.

I actually met Heyes and the Kid when I was ten and we went to visit the Hole. It was a very impressive operation, as Heyes and the Kid ran it. Very organized and disciplined – for an outlaw gang. Otherwise Pa would never have taken me there. Heyes was only about twenty-five when we were there, and the Kid's two years younger. But they'd been running a tight ship up there for three years by then. That's not easy to do with outlaws! Pa has the utmost respect for Heyes and the Kid, as he always says."

"Wow, Peale! You're outlaw royalty!" exclaimed Jim.

"Well, I wouldn't say that . . ." said Peale modestly, but he looked pleased.

"So you're from Montana, Peale? Where's the trial going to be?" asked Ev Carter.

Peale said, "I'm not sure. There isn't even a county . . ."

Charlie said, "Heyes killed the man a few miles outside of a tiny town called Lodge Grass. The trial that sorted out the conspiracy and hung the dirty deputy was held in Billings – the only town of any size within fifty miles. But I doubt that Billings would have the facilities to secure and try a big-time criminal (pardon me, Beth) like Heyes. They'll figure the Devil's Hole boys might show up – which they won't. They'll figure the Kid will try to spring him – which he won't. They'll call in the cavalry – maybe literally. So I'm guessing they'll hold it in Helena, the capital of the state."

"That'd be good for us," said Peale, "The best lawyers in the state are there – not that that's saying much. They don't get many cases on this scale up there. This'll make someone's career."

"I just feel so helpless!" said Beth in frustration. "Even if the murder trial works out right, what can we do about the amnesty? Nothing!" But then Beth's head tilted to one side and a light came into her eyes. She whispered very softly, "Or maybe not . . ."

"What is it, Beth?" asked Neal George anxiously. If there was anything more that they could do to help Heyes, he wanted to know about it and act on it.

Beth shook her head. "I'd rather not say until I'm sure I'm right. And besides, this takes only one person. Only one . . . If it works . . ."

"Well, it's late guys, and I've got to pack to head to Helena in the morning," said Charlie. "And Marie . . ." He stopped suddenly. Charlie had forgotten for a moment that he had been widowed. Then the reality of it came back. He stopped and gathered himself for a moment, then continued with commendable fortitude. "You guys, and ladies, had better go soon. I'll send telegrams back here from Montana via Professor Hargrove, if I may. No one knows that she's involved with any of this, so she's a safer conduit than anyone here"

The English professor nodded and said, "I'm glad to do what I can to help this kindly conspiracy. And please everyone, just call me Diana."

Charlie continued laying down the law, "Sounds like you're in charge of the collection, Peale." The young physicist nodded. "If we can have all the funds gathered in the next couple of days and then wire the funds to me in Virginia City, I can pick out a good man for us. I think a certain sheriff will have advice for us about that." Then the meeting went over to the figuring out of practical details, like what hotel was the most trustworthy and affordable in Helena. Peale was a terrific help. No details were written down – they couldn't take the change on anyone ever finding any documents.

Charlie noticed that as Heyes' friends were leaving, Beth asked Huxtable something. Once he had answered, she hurried away – and not toward her own apartment. As she left, Beth was saying to herself again, "Oh my darling, what are they doing to you? What are you going through?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As the paddy wagon drove away, the horses couldn't long keep to a gallop despite the hurry caused by police fears of people trying to free their famous prisoner. The Manhattan traffic was just too dense. Heyes was rather glad to slow down some. It wasn't exactly a smooth ride. It was hard for him to stay upright without having the handcuffs that secured him to the bars cut painfully into his wrists. Tryon, riding shotgun next to the driver, looked back at Heyes and grinned nastily at the blood running down his wrists and staining his formal white shirt.

But once they slowed down, there were other challenges. The paddy wagon was built like a circus animal cage wagon, combining security with exposure. The holding area in back was a box with a grid of bars on the sides so that those outside, police and civilians, could look in and see whatever the occupant did. There was a plain, slick wooden bench down either side of the box. Nothing afforded any cover.

Heyes had often seen paddy wagons go by with their shamed occupants bent over covering their faces. He wasn't about to be seen cringing that way. He sat bolt upright and kept his face as close to impassive as he could manage. In fact, to passersby, the well-dressed man with his wrists bound behind him looked proud and defiant. When passing drunks cursed and laughed at him, he showed no sign of having heard them. When a dirty delivery van driver spat at him and the blob of saliva hit a bar and sprayed his cheek, Heyes didn't even flinch.

A newspaper boy ran up and asked, as the police van was stopped by a carriage jam ahead, "What are they taking you in for, Mister?" Heyes didn't turn away.

The world-famous outlaw told the ragged little boy, maybe nine years old, "You don't want to know, son. You really don't want to know."

But when the boy, with a precocious nose for news, asked, "What, are you an infamous criminal?" Heyes turned his face away. He wouldn't meet the boys' eyes again or answer. The paddy wagon started forward again with a hard jerk and more blood ran down Heyes' arms.


	45. Chapter 45

Officer Tryon peered down from his shotgun perch into the cage of the paddy wagon as they neared Grand Central Depot and pulled into a back loading entrance. He took an unholy glee in his arrest of the famous outlaw. "Good-bye, Heyes. Thanks for the fifteen thousand! Get hence to the place of your death, you filthy thief!"

Heyes ignored the angry outburst. He thought he understood what was behind it. He replied thoughtfully as the wagon inched along slowly in growing darkness inside the station. "No problem, Tryon. I was sorry to hear about your brother. Nothing to do with me, of course, but still I'm sorry something bad happened."

The kind words from Heyes merely served to stir up Officer Tryon. "Huh? How'd you know about my brother if you had nothing to do with it? You scum! If you did that . . ."

Heyes stayed very calm. "I heard a couple of your fellow officers mention it in Central Park one day, not long after you spotted me on Long Island."

"What!? How'd they dare? Where you could hear? What did they say?" Tryon was torn between being frantically furious at Heyes and at the officers he had heard gossiping.

Heyes shrugged nonchalantly. "They didn't say exactly, except that something bad to do with western outlaws had happened to him. I was just sitting on a rock. They didn't know who I was."

Tryon growled, "My brother was a sheriff in Nevada, and a good one. A bunch of outlaws got hold of him and . . . and tore him apart with wild horses!"

"My God!" exclaimed Heyes, genuinely appalled. "That's terrible! My condolences, Tryon. I can't blame you for being mad about that! I hope the murderers get brought to justice, if they haven't already."

"I, um, thanks, Heyes. I went out to do what I could for the law there, but we never did catch 'em." Tryon was a bit thrown to have the supposedly vicious outlaw he had arrested behave so decently toward him.

As the wagon stopped, deep inside the dim loading area of the station, a dozen heavily armed policemen surrounded the back of the vehicle. The marshals went in to the wagon's cage to take charge of Heyes. "Move it, Heyes!" said the man from Montana as he unhooked the handcuffs from the bars. Heyes, clumsy with his hands cuffed behind him, tried to stay upright as he jumped down from the end of the paddy wagon. But he stumbled and fell. Tryon, who stood by the gate, helped the reformed outlaw to his feet. "I'm sorry for what I said, Heyes," he whispered.

"Don't worry about it, Tryon," said Heyes, just as softly. "I understand. I went straight 'cause I never wanted to get stuck doing anything like that ever."

Tryon stayed with the paddy wagon. The tall young man stood and looked after Heyes with a surprised and puzzled look on his face as the marshals herded his prisoner roughly along a dark corridor.

Before they got to the public platform, the marshals stopped Heyes and fastened irons to his legs. "Don't you try anything!" said the Colorado marshal. "If the Kid or anybody tries to break you free, we have orders to shoot to kill. And that includes you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," responded Heyes, keeping his voice absolutely steady without the least hint of anger or impatience. "I'm going quietly. I guess I can't blame you for not believing me, but I really have gone straight. Dr. Leutze or Professor Homer, whoever told you where I was, must have told you that. And they must have told you that it was at my request that they directed you to me. So please, let's just go to Montana for a fair trial and forget the rough stuff."

"Shut up and move along, Heyes!" snarled the Montana marshal. So Heyes moved along as fast as he could through the chill, dark tunnel.

The front marshal opened a locked door and the process issued onto a crowded railroad platform where a steam train stood waiting. The dozen blue-clad policemen stayed alongside Heyes as the marshals went before and after him. "Stand back, everyone!" shouted one policeman as they emerged into the light. "We have a dangerous prisoner here!" A woman screamed. A little boy stared with excitement up at Heyes, while his mother anxiously pulled him back. A man in a formal suit put himself protectively between his wife and the dangerous prisoner. Everyone stared at the man in irons who was surrounded by policemen and marshals.

Heyes neither slunk nor strutted. He simply walked along, trying to avoid tripping over his manacles and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. His worst nightmares seemed all determined to come true. But he kept remembering the advice of Beth and Marie and Senator Warren – he must never give up.

It was a struggle not to stumble in the heavy, awkward leg irons, without the use of his arms for balance. Heyes could feel a little blood tickling his arms as it trickled down from his cut wrists. A couple of policemen boosted Heyes awkwardly upon onto the train car where he would ride to Montana.

There was a special car set aside for Heyes and his guards, although it was not altered in any way other than being emptied of regular passengers. Heyes was seated at the middle of the car, surrounded by at least two marshals and half a dozen policemen at all times. A scowling marshal unfastened his prisoner's handcuffs while his fellow marshals kept their pistols trained on Heyes. Then the handcuffs got reattached in front so Heyes could sit securely. It was the lone concession his captors made to his comfort.

The lawmen sat around Heyes as the train pulled out of the station, watching their prisoner relentlessly. "Bye-bye New York! Hope I'll be back soon!" said Heyes, trying in vain to provoke a smile or two. The marshal seated next to him frowned at him. The other lawmen simply sat in hostile silence. And they stayed that way, hour after hour. Eventually, a fresh shift of lawmen came in while the initial bunch went to take a break. "See you later, guys!" said Heyes. Again, he received no answer but unfriendly looks.

As the train chugged west and the sun went down, Heyes began to feel a physical as well as a psychological chill. He sneezed and his nose began to run. "Hey, marshal, you got a handkerchief? Could you give me a hand here, please?" Heyes asked as politely as he could in the oppressive silence. The man ignored him. Heyes finally just rubbed his nose on the shoulder of his good jacket. The marshal glared at him and Heyes returned a shrug and a "what else can I do?" look.

As night came on, Heyes began to get hungry and even more so, thirsty. The lawmen had evidently eaten before they changed shifts, but they had given their prisoner nothing. Heyes, perceiving that nothing was going to happen, asked, "Come on guys, don't I get anything to eat? Or maybe a glass of water?" There was no response, so Heyes went on, "I think starving me might just fall under cruel and unusual punishment. And that's not legal." He couldn't help letting a slight note of resentment creep into his voice. The marshal next to the prisoner sighed and gestured for a policeman to bring something.

The policeman brought Heyes a metal cup of water that clinked unpleasantly against his teeth as the man held the cup for him to drink. The prisoner couldn't help letting a few stray drops run down the front of his suit, which was clearly going to be in bad shape by the time they got to Montana. The dry biscuits and jerky that he got to eat added crumbs and grease to the unfortunate suit. Heyes was learning better than to complain.

Now and then, a single policeman would leave the car, always to be replaced by another man. There was no let up in the watchful guard. As it grew dark outside, the policemen lit lamps in the car so they could see their charge clearly. And they stared relentlessly. A couple of hours after Heyes had had his sparse supper, the policemen were starting to yawn and so was Heyes. But Heyes was feeling uncomfortable in another direction. "Uh, guys," he said softly, "I'm only human here. Can I get some help with . . . you know." There was only silence in answer. "Come on, it's going to get mighty nasty in here if there isn't a pot or something . . ."

The policemen allowed Heyes to have his hands free for just the minimal time and they did give him soap and water. But they kept their guns trained on him the whole time and they stared like they had never seen a man relieve himself before. Heyes was starting to feel like some kind of sleazy side show.

The lamps stayed lit all night. Heyes felt terribly restless and uncomfortable after hours of being unable to move more than a few inches. He could feel the eyes of the lawmen on him. It was impossible for him to relax and go to sleep. Heyes fidgeted restlessly as he got more and more tired. His wrists bled a little more and his ankles began to be sore as well as the leg irons wore at him. But worse by far was his worry and loneliness. What was going to happen to him, to Beth, to the Kid and Cat? At last he began to drop off, then he woke with a start from an anxious nightmare that was no worse than the waking reality around him.

Finally, after four eternally long days of being chained and watched and hungry and thirsty and embarrassed and feeling nothing but hostility around him, Heyes and his company of guards arrived in Montana. The prisoner was filthy and exhausted, worn out by tension and lack of sleep.

"Come on, Heyes! Move it!" growled a marshal as the train finally hissed to a stop at the station in Helena.

Heyes was beyond politeness by now. "Hold on a minute, can't you?" groused the prisoner, stumbling in his irons. "My leg is asleep. And so is my ass, if anybody cares, which they don't."

The police and the marshals gathered around Heyes as they dragged him out of the train and through the train station. Cordons of deputies kept back the noisy crowds that had gathered to see the infamous outlaw arrive. "We love you, Heyes!" Shouted someone. "Filthy outlaw!" shouted another voice. Heyes kept his head up, but he didn't smile or say a word. It was a fight not to look at the dozens of strangers. Heyes didn't dare appear to be working the crowd or enjoying the attention. That wouldn't impress any judge ever born.

The streets of the rough, frontier capital were teaming with people starring at the arriving celebrity. The overcast sky, dripping rain, discouraged no one among the lively, loud throngs. "Stay back there, this is a dangerous prisoner! Stay back!" shouted the deputies and marshals again and again.

"Everyone knows Heyes don't hurt nobody!" shouted a youngster, and many voiced agreement with him. Heyes still kept his face as blank as he could. But it was nice to know that people in the West still appreciated his peaceful reputation.

The crowd of lawmen, scowling at the crowd that seemed to be mostly on the side of the outlaw, hauled Heyes up the steps of the castle-like, turreted stone Lewis and Clark County jailhouse. After he had gone down a couple of halls to the center of the ever darker edifice, Heyes found himself in a bare single cell, locked away. An excited young, blonde deputy took the handcuffs off Heyes, but the leg irons remained. A pair of proudly upright, neatly dressed deputies stood guard in front of Heyes' cell with pistols at their hips and rifles in their hands. Heyes was still in his now very bedraggled good suit that he had originally worn to the dance in Central Park. It seemed another life now.

"Say, who are you?" asked a scruffy prisoner in the cell next door, looking up sleepily and taking in the crowd of departing lawmen and the deputies who remained standing at attention. "Some kind of celebrity?"

Heyes bowed his head and didn't answer, but one of the deputies said, with pride in his voice, "That's Hannibal Heyes!"

"Well, what do you know?" said the next door prisoner cheerfully. "Welcome, Heyes! Glad to have you as a neighbor. I'm Duffy Powell."

"Thanks," muttered Heyes wearily but trying to be mannerly. "Nice to meet you, Powell."

"Cheer up, Heyes!" said Powell. "It ain't so bad."

"It is if they hang you," said Heyes, sounding very depressed.

"They won't hang you for robbery," said Powell comfortingly.

"For murder they do," chimed in the young deputy.

Powell looked up in surprise. "Sorry, Heyes. I didn't know."

"No problem. It was self-defense, but I can't say any more till I can get a lawyer," said Heyes. "And God only knows how I'll ever do that."

All the next day, Heyes cooled his heels moodily in the jail cell. There was nothing he could do but wait and worry. He paced up and down rattling his chains like an unquiet spirit until even the naturally upbeat Powell begged him, "Just light someplace, Heyes!"

The jail might be fancier than the small town jails Heyes was used to, but the routine of boredom and bad food and no privacy was much the same. Only, he had never been in jail so long without the Kid before. He was just plain lonesome.

The next morning after the stale toast and water breakfast that was all Heyes got, a pair of smartly dressed deputies came to get him. "Come on, Heyes." They yanked his wrists behind him and roughly applied handcuffs, then dragged Heyes down a couple of long halls.

"What's this?" asked Heyes. "Are they gonna charge me, finally?" But he got no answer.

Finally, Heyes was pulled into a formal paneled office where he got to sit on the first padded chair he had felt since before he left New York. There were still two deputies in the room and Heyes was still in chains, but he appreciated any smidgeon of comfort where he could get it.

Before Heyes had time to enjoy his cushy chair, an elegantly suited young man entered the room, looking around expectantly. Heyes got clumsily to his feet. He figured that even if he was filthy and smelly and wrung out, he might as well be respectful. He had expected an old judge, but this neatly groomed man looked to be no older than his late twenties. He couldn't possibly be a state judge.

The young man in his natty dark grey suit put out his hand, uselessly, sense Heyes was in handcuffs and couldn't possibly shake hands. "Hello, Mr. Heyes. I'm glad to meet you. My name is Hardin Cole. I'm your lawyer."

Heyes stared in surprise at the young man. Cole was very light skinned and had hazel eyes, but he was clearly what society then classed as a Negro.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Cole. That's right nice," said Heyes, "except I don't recall hiring a lawyer. And I have a pretty fair memory."

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Heyes. A consortium of your friends in New York got together and hired me on your behalf."

Heyes, in an automatic gesture of self-defense, took on a less educated and sophisticated character than was truly his, now. "That's right neighborly of 'em, but I prefer to choose and pay my own lawyer. So Mr. Cole, you are discharged. Let me know what I owe you for any work you've done so far and I'll pay you."

Cole gave Heyes a slightly hostile stare of his own. "You don't want a Negro to represent you, is that it?"

Heyes was a little offended that Cole would make this assumption. "Not at all. I have nothing against Negroes. I wish you well and I hope you get justice one day. The Kid and I risked our lives for a guy once – actually a bunch of times - because he wasn't gettin' a fair shake on account of his skin color. And he was a bounty hunter who was determined to turn us in! But I just want to make my own choice and pay my own way."

Cole was not about to back down. "Fair enough. But I'm the best lawyer in Helena. Ask anyone."

Heyes nodded. "I will. And if that's so, I might hire you back on my own nickel. But I prefer to ask around myself."

"How can a jailed man ask around?" asked Cole skeptically. He went on, "And, for your information, you can't afford me."

Heyes drew himself up, affronted. "That's an arrogant assumption about what's in my pocket book!"

Cole snorted, "You're a penniless grad student with maybe a hundred in poker winnings stashed away. That isn't going to be enough."

Heyes scowled at the all too accurate estimate of his finances. Cole's eyebrows went up, "I'm right on the mark, aren't I?"

Heyes sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I don't have a penny of what we stole. Rode off and left it all behind when we went straight."

"I advise you to trust Dr. Homer and Matthias Peale and your other friends, who are free to research the situation, to make this choice. They have communicated with me extensively and I know they spoke with plenty of other men as well. Here, this might help you to see the situation in a different light." Cole handed Heyes a sealed envelope.

Heyes looked intently at Cole, who picked a letter opener from a glossy desk nearby and held the opened letter for Heyes to read. Heyes began reading silently.

The letter began, "Dear Heyes  
Please accept Hardin Cole as your lawyer. Peale and I have looked into the question and chosen him as easily the finest lawyer in Helena. I know that it will hurt your pride to accept our help, but think of Beth and Cat and the Kid and all of the young men and women you can help if you can avoid getting hung. Please take on Mr. Cole's services and think about money later. Together we can afford to take on the bill without strain on our resources. Please forget your pride just this once. Grow a bit of sense – you do need it. And we do need you – free!  
Sincerely,  
Charles Homer, PhD, on behalf of Everett Carter, Neal George, Diana Hargrove, PhD, Paul Huxtable, Dr. Samuel Leutze, Mary Moore, Matthias Peale, James Smith, and Elizabeth Warren, MA." Each of the names was signed in the person's own handwriting. Heyes felt outvoted by his own friends.

"But it isn't just this once, Charlie, it's all the time! I'm in debt to the backers for my degrees and whoever paid for my treatment, and now you folks! And what are Diana and Polly doing on that list?" said Heyes softly to himself.

Heyes sighed wearily. "Alright Cole. Alright, I'll be a damned charity case one more time. If I manage to stay alive and out of prison, I'll be in debt for the rest of my sorry days. But I'll go with you."

"Good!" said Cole with a tooth-flashing grin, "'cause I'm gonna get you off, Mr. Heyes. And I'll earn an even better reputation than I already have."

"Or become a laughing stock," frowned Heyes. "Don't get cocky." He paused a moment and studied his new lawyer. "So, what do you already know about the case, and me, and what can I tell you?"

"Sit down, Heyes," said Cole. "This might take awhile. And drop the country boy act – I know full well that you're only a formality away from a mathematics MA from Columbia University, with honors."

Heyes grinned. It was nice to get some respect again. With Cole's tactful help, he sat back in the padded armchair. Cole asked for the guards to bring his client a glass of water. He asked for the handcuffs to be removed, but the deputies refused.

Cole sniffed delicately. "First thing, Heyes, we'll get you a bath and some clean clothes. You must be miserable in that filthy suit."

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, haven't been able to change in five days. Thanks for the help."

Cole smiled gently, with compassion in his eyes. "It's the least I can do. Now, let's see what we can do in a more substantial way to get you some justice. Please describe every detail of your previous trip to Montana, right from the beginning."

As he answered Cole's astute questions Heyes began to feel just a little better. Finally, there was someone who cared about him – even if he was paid to do so. The pair was soon deep in conversation. It quickly became apparent to Heyes that he was dealing with a very intelligent and imaginative man. And Cole began to think the same thing about his new client.


	46. Chapter 46

Heyes went back to his cage. He paced up and down, his brain whirring with activity as he considered the strategies he had been discussing with his new lawyer. After just a few minutes, Cole appeared with his arms full of clothing. "Come on, deputy, get this man to where he can clean up and change in decent privacy!" said the young lawyer with a grin. He hadn't been at all sure that the Montana law would accommodate his requests for his client's comfort. The tall young blonde deputy looked away disdainfully and refused to speak directly to the young African-American lawyer. But he opened the cell and unfastened Heyes' chains from the cell bars so two guards could accompany the prisoner to a room where he could bathe and change.

Heyes smiled at his lawyer and said, "Thanks Mr. Cole! I appr . . ." Heyes' voice trailed off as he stared at the pile of shirts, linens, socks, pants, and jacket in the lawyer's arms.

Heyes looked angrily from the clothes to Cole's face. "Where is she?" he demanded, standing with his arms crossed and his cell door opened while his impatient guards waited for him to move.

"Where is who?" asked Cole.

"Don't play the innocent with me!" growled Heyes irritably. "Those aren't just any clothes – those are my clothes! Those came from my room in New York City. There's only one person who has the key to my place and there's no way she would just send clothes. She came herself, didn't she? Where's my fiancée, Elizabeth Warren? I begged her not to come, but the woman won't ever listen to me. She came."

Cole grinned nervously. He didn't know Heyes that well yet and he wasn't sure of how the former outlaw would treat a recalcitrant woman. "Yeah, Mr. Heyes, she came. When you've cleaned up and gotten dressed, she'll meet you in the visiting room. Is that alright?" He glanced from the deputy, who nodded, and to Heyes who scowled.

But then he sighed and relented. "Yeah, that's alright. I sure won't refuse to see my own gal. I just wish to God she didn't have to see me like this – in chains."

An hour later Heyes said nearly the same words to Beth, as he sat chained to a heavy iron ring in the visiting room with Beth on the other side of an intimidating set of bars. She answered in a voice full of pain, "Well, this is how you are, Heyes. So it's how I'm going to see you. Until the trial's over and you get out of here."

"That won't happen after this trial, and you know it," Heyes said, sighing bitterly.

"I know," Beth replied, very quietly. "Oh darling, how well I know it."

The two gazed longingly at each other through the bars, brown eyes locked on brown eyes.

"Are you still mad at me for coming?"Beth asked tentatively.

Heyes looked sadly at Beth. "No, honey. I'm awful glad to see you. But that lawyer of mine had better really have worked out a way to protect you from aiding and abetting charges. It's bad enough having me put away. I couldn't stand, I mean really couldn't stand, to have you in jail, much less prison. But if he's sure you're safe, I'm glad to have you here . . . as long as the prosecuting attorney doesn't manage to turn your testimony against me!"

"My place is at your side, Heyes," said Beth doggedly. "I don't see how they could make me say anything against you. There isn't anything to be said against you! We may not really be married yet, but we might as well be. We belong together. The sooner you realize that, the better!"

Heyes grinned briefly. "I do realize that, love!" Suddenly he was on his feet and reaching toward the bars down the middle of the room. As Heyes' guards dashed forward, Beth leapt toward Heyes, putting her face to a space between the bars. Their lips had barely touched when the guards hauled at Heyes' chains, pulling the pair apart.

Beth wept softly as the guards pulled Heyes out one door while she was escorted firmly out the other. She and Heyes both wondered if they would ever touch each other again.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes returned to his cell, very upset. Not an hour later, a deputy came up to his cell and said, "Another visitor to see you, Heyes! Come on!" Again, the prisoner brushed off his suit and tried to look decent despite the chains. Again his chain was detached from the bars and he was paraded through the halls of the castle-like prisoner to the visiting room with two guards at his sides. Again, he was chained to the heavy ring and placed behind a wall of iron bars.

This visitor was a burly, formally dressed man with a bushy mustache. He looked at Heyes curiously.

In an accent that Heyes immediately recognized as being from not far from his own birthplace in Missouri, though with a strong dose of the farther West added, the man said, "I came to apologize, Heyes."

"Apologize?" Heyes asked his impressive and as yet unidentified visitor, sounding puzzled and uneasy.

"I'm Joe Toole – Governor of Montana. I wanted to go along with your request to keep your identity a secret for this trial, Heyes. I don't know how your name and the schedule for your train leaked out before you even got here – but I intend to find out!" Toole's angry tone didn't bode well for whoever had leaked the news. Heyes was glad to see that this governor had some respect for him, and for his ideas. That could be important for his amnesty – if he could get past the murder trial.

The governor reined in his fury quickly. "I think you were right, Heyes. It will be hard for you, with your name known, to get a fair trial from a jury of your peers. Not that I'm sure you have many peers in this country. Honestly, there can't be many." The governor gave a brief bark of laughter.

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Heyes.

The governor laughed again. "You know what I mean, Heyes! Not many men could go from being a brilliant outlaw to being at least as brilliant an academic mathematician! They tell me you're a true genius."

Heyes laughed himself. "I've heard it now and then. Well, alright, pretty often. I do alright, when I care about something."

Toole grinned under his dense mustache. "The Kid's a lucky man to have you as a partner."

Heyes snorted. "Well, I'm lucky to have him, too. His gun hand's pretty fast, that's true. But the Kid's a genius in his own right. He often has less than a second to figure up a man's character and his mood, not to mention his skill with a gun. And he has to figure out how to avoid killing a man, and how to do him as little harm as he can – which is how the Kid has always operated. I can't swear that he's always been right about all that, but he's still alive and free. That ought to tell you something in itself."

Toole nodded. "It does. He must have figured up your character long ago. It's a tribute to you both that you're still partners after all these years. You know, Heyes, if you ever get past all these legal challenges, you ought to think of running for office."

"No, sir!" exclaimed Heyes with fierce conviction. "I would not ever do that. I just want to look after my own business. I want to be a professor, an advisor, a husband, and, I hope, a father one day. I don't even want to be a department chair. I had enough of that kind of politics, and more than, when I was still in the outlaw trade. I gave it up for good reason. I hate to hurt people, in any way. I never want to have to do it again."

"What about killing them?" asked Toole, dryly, looking intently into Heyes' eyes.

Heyes looked hard at the governor and shook his head. "You know I can't talk about an ongoing legal case."

"Did that darkie lawyer of yours tell you that?" asked Toole harshly.

Heyes' eyes flared angrily, although it was a very mild slur by the measure of those days. "Yeah, but he didn't have to. I know the law. And so do you – aren't you a lawyer?"

Toole nodded. "I am. But I'm also a politician."

"You sure are," said Heyes. "Are you getting a deal together with those three other . . . gentlemen?"

"You ought to know that I can't talk about an ongoing political deal!" said the governor, only half joking.

Heyes raised one eyebrow skeptically as he looked at Toole. Then he turned to look at his guards, who had listening to this conversation in a certain amount of awe. Not many outlaws could talk with a governor on such an equal basis. Heyes rattled his chain to show them that he was ready to go. Heyes looked back at Toole. "Well, if you're done questioning me, Governor, I guess I'd like to go back to my cage. In case you'd forgotten, my murder trial starts tomorrow. I'd like to rest up and be ready for it, if you don't mind."

"No, Heyes. I guess it's a little hard for you to think past that just now. I'll watch the proceedings with great interest." Heyes noticed that the governor did not wish him luck.

But as Heyes got back to his cell, he thought to himself, "One down, and one to go. Maybe."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes, just back from the bathing room where he had sponged off and shaved, carefully dressed in his best suit. He tried to ignore the pair of excited young deputies staring at him. The leg irons got in the way until Heyes asked for them to be taken off momentarily while he put on his drawers and pants. Once he was fully dressed, he asked for a hand mirror, which was duly provided. He arranged his hair as well as he could. Finally Hardin Cole arrived, looking keyed up but not nervous.

"How many murder trials have you been through?" asked Heyes as the pair walked down the hall toward the door, the prisoner's chains rattling and ringing on the stone of the floor. It took three men just to carry the chains that linked Heyes' arms and legs.

"None – so far," said Cole with a grin. "This is my first!"

"Oh, that's just great!" said Heyes in agitation. "Did Charlie Homer think to ask you that?"

"Of course." Cole was still smiling and in high spirits. He reminded Heyes of himself in the old days when he had been all excited to be setting off on a hard job back in the Devil's Hole days. "He ultimately decided that my overall legal experience was strong enough to offset my lack of experience in that area. After all, there has to be a first time for everything."

"But why does MY trial have to be your first?" Heyes sighed and pulled himself together as they approached the heavy doors of the prison. Even behind all that oak, he could hear noise outside. He was not going to get to make his way across to the Lewis and Clark County Courthouse in privacy. It was no surprise, but it didn't make Heyes happy.

Two more deputies and four full marshals joined Heyes' escort, while more than a dozen other lawmen fanned out to keep the crowds back as the famed prisoner made his way down the steep stone steps. He had to fight with every step to keep the heavy leg irons and manacles from throwing him off balance. The day was bright and clear with hardly a cloud in the blue sky. A large crowd had gathered in a holiday mood. The voices of strangers called out to the defendant, who tried to ignore them. He had a hard time getting used to having so many people know who he really was, after so many years of keeping his name a dark secret. "Good luck, Heyes!" "We believe in you, Heyes!" "What's with the n_, Heyes?" "Don't think you can fool the law in Montana, you criminal!" "Keep your head up, Heyes! You'll come through!" "Couldn't you find a lawyer of your own kind?" "Is the Kid coming to break you out?" Most of the voices seemed to be those of young men, but women and even children were well represented in the crowd. Most people seemed to support Heyes, who wasn't sure why he was so popular. The lawmen had to work hard to keep everyone back.

Fortunately, the court house was just across the street. The tall clock tower struck nine as his guards hurried Heyes in the door. The halls were full of people, too. Many of them seemed to be from the press. There was even a photographer who set off a burst of flash powder as Heyes went by. Heyes couldn't help jumping a little at that.

Finally, Heyes and his escort arrived at the elegant, classically detailed courtroom. It seemed to have been newly painted for the occasion. The large gallery was packed by a noisy crowd.

Heyes looked curiously to see what the jury looked like. They were all men, ranging pretty equally from young to old, dressed in their best dark suits. Some had cowboy hats with them, but all had bared their heads.

Heyes and Cole went to sit side by side at a polished table in the front of the courtroom. "Just don't let all the crowd get to you, Heyes," whispered Cole in his client's ear. "The truth is the truth and you're in the right."

Heyes nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to stay calm. After so many years of secrecy, the crowd made him very self-conscious. He heard a young woman sitting near the rail say, "That is one fine looking outlaw!" Heyes tried not to grin. It was nice to be appreciated, even though Beth might disagree with him on that!

A skinny, nervous looking grey-haired man sat at the other table at the front of the court room. He was Gregory Horace, the prosecuting attorney, with a younger assistant next to him. Two young male clerks sat near the bench preparing to transcribe the proceedings. Heyes could see at least one courtroom artist sitting near the front rail of the gallery. The man looked up from his drawing board to look probingly at Heyes, then quickly began to draw the former outlaw.

A loud, solemn voice intoned, "All rise!" This set off a noisy commotion as the large crowd and all the jurors, lawyers, clerks, and other functionaries got to their feet. Heyes had rarely been in court – it was something he had long worked to avoid. But Cole had told him every step of the official proceedings so nothing should take him by surprise.

The judge, a tall, balding, middle-aged man, strode up to the bench and sat down. Then the court sat down as well. Heyes looked curiously at the judge, wondering what the man would think of the infamous defendant.

The court was filled with rustling and talk from the packed gallery. The judge said, "The court will come to order!" But this did little good. People kept talking. The judge pounded his gavel again and again. "Silence! Silence in court!" his baritone voice boomed. But the packed gallery continued to whisper noisily.

Heyes tried not to look nervous, but he was. He had been in very few courtrooms in his time. Many times as he had been arrested, he had almost always managed to get away somehow before any actual trial. The few times when Heyes had been in a courtroom, it had been for an informal proceeding in a very informal little western courtroom that often did double duty as a barroom. This elegant courtroom in the new state courthouse of the new state of Montana was utterly new in his experience. That Beth Warren was sitting a few rows back in the gallery next to Charlie Homer and Jim Smith did not help Heyes to be calm, but he would do his best never to catch the eye of any of them. It would be hard, but it was the only way he could keep his concentration on the trial.

"Order in the court!" hollered the judge again, his face reddening as his gavel thundered. "This court will come to order or I will empty the gallery!" Reluctantly, the gallery finally complied.

When something close to silence had finally been achieved, the judge spoke. "The defendant will rise and state his full name for the court."

Heyes stood, trying not to strain against his chains. He looked respectfully up at the judge. "Hannibal Heyes." Heyes the aspiring professor calmly and effortlessly projected his voice to the whole courtroom. There was a flurry of whispers in the gallery until the judge pounded his gavel to silence them.

"Is that your full name? You have no middle name?" asked the judge.

"It is, your honor. I have no middle name so far as I know," answered Heyes.

"What do you mean, so far as you know?" the judge asked, sounding a little put out.

Heyes restrained himself from smiling. Things were already going as his savvy lawyer had hoped – giving him a chance to give some of his sad personal history that would help to get the jury's sympathy. Heyes, staying very serious, stated to the judge and looked over at the jury as well, "I was nine years old when my family was slaughtered in the Kansas border wars and our house was burned. The family Bible was lost in the fire." The gallery was filled with sympathetic murmurs and Heyes could see how disturbed some the jurors looked about this violent history.

"Were you never baptized, Mr. Heyes? Wouldn't there be church records or school records?" asked the judge, appalled.

"No, your honor," answered Heyes levelly. "It was a remote farm when I was born. There was no church near enough for my family to attend until some years later. And the church and the schoolhouse I attended were also burned at the time that my parents and my brother and sister were murdered." There were more compassionate exclamations from the gallery. The judge did not bother to silence them.

"Very well. Clerk, please swear in the defendant," said the judge.

The clerk spoke quietly to Heyes. "Mr. Heyes, please place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand." Then he spoke loudly so that the whole court could hear him, "Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," said Heyes, sounding solemn, indeed.

From somewhere in the gallery a whisper could be clearly heard, "As if that bastard ever told the truth in his life!" but the man was quickly hissed into silence amid angry whispers. Heyes' eyes went to the gallery in search of what enemy he had there, but he didn't recognize anyone immediately and he didn't dare become distracted long enough to study all of the dozen of faces.

"Defendant, you stand accused of murder in the second degree. How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?" asked the judge in an officially neutral voice.

"Not guilty, your honor," said Heyes, "I fired in self-defense."

"The defendant will be seated," said the judge. Heyes complied, with one of the pair of deputies guarding him helping to make sure that he did not become tangled in the length of heavy chain that connected both his arms and both his legs.

The prosecuting attorney, a mousy little man, stood and made his opening statement. "Your honor, gentlemen of the jury, it has already been proven in a court of law that the slain man, Sean Gunther the third, was part of an unlawful conspiracy to seize and hold against his will the defendant's partner, Jedediah Curry. This conspiracy was created in order to turn the defendant and his partner in to the law for the reward of thirty thousand dollars. This conspiracy was illegal, but it was founded upon turning in two desperate and infamous criminals who carried guns and were not averse to using them. I shall prove that the infamous defendant came to free his partner and, on seeing conspirator Sean Gunther, did deliberately shoot him down to gain revenge upon him for the taking of his partner." Heyes stared at the prosecuting attorney, wondering how anyone could believe in the revenge motive for a man who had been surprised by someone carrying a gun! He studied the quick, twitching movements of the slender attorney. Truly, the man sounded as if he knew that he didn't have a legal or moral leg to stand on. It was just as Cole had told Heyes. It wasn't quite an open and shut case, but if things went as Cole hoped they would, it would be nearly so.

Yet, in a murder trial, anything could happen. Heyes and Cole could not afford to be careless or to take anything for granted.

Now Cole rose, ignoring the cat calls and nasty yells that greeted a Negro lawyer. He had heard it all many times before, if not from quite so large and aggressive a crowd. The judge banged his gavel and stated quietly, "Any person who continues to make offensive remarks toward this attorney will be escorted from this courtroom." Heyes was relieved to hear this. He had been, and continued to be, worried by the attitudes that might prevail toward his lawyer due to his race. Just because the judge was, at least publically, even handed about race did not mean that all members of the jury would be.

Cole spoke in a clear, ringing tenor voice, "Your honor, gentlemen of the jury, I will demonstrate beyond any reasonable doubt that when he shot Sean Gunther, my client acted in self-defense. My client and his partner are famous for using as little force as possible in all eventualities. This is even more true since they gave up all criminal activities more than seven years ago." There was loud murmuring at this – far from everyone knew that Heyes and the Kid had gone straight. The judge had to bang his gavel to quiet the gallery. "As I say," continued Cole, "my client and his partner gave up all criminal activities more than seven years ago, yet they continued, indeed still continue, to be wanted. My client, Hannibal Heyes, acted only in self-defense. He was untying his illegally detained partner when Sean Gunther came up behind him and surprised him. Mr. Heyes turned. By the time he pulled the trigger, Sean Gunther had already fired at him and narrowly missed. There is clear evidence that Gunther was in the process of preparing to fire his gun again at the moment that my client fired at him. If Mr. Heyes had not shot Mr. Gunther, there can be little doubt that Mr. Gunter, shooting a second time from such close range, would have shot and killed my client. There could not be a clearer or more classic instance of self-defense."

The presentation of evidence began with a clerk's reading out evidence from the previous trial to establish the facts of the conspiracy between Deputy Bentley, Sean Gunther, and Mrs. Gunther, and Bentley's father. They had purposefully ruined the _Lodge Grass Montana Trumpet_ and use faked reports from that newspaper to get them reprinted in other papers. These reports were put out to get the Kid and then Heyes to go to Lodge Grass where they could be kidnapped and then turned in for the reward money that Bentley needed to pay off his father's debts and Gunther needed to pay off his own gambling debts. They had previously robbed a stage coach and gotten it blamed on the Kid. This robbery had involved a murder for which Deputy Bentley had been hung.

Horace, the prosecuting attorney, then began the new evidence by questioning Sheriff Herman Pohank. Pohank was a thin, tough middle aged man who evidently had strong powers of observation. There was quite a bit of time spent setting up the physical situation of the old mine entrance and the shed there where the Kid had been kept tied up for over a week.

After these things were established, Horace continued questioning Sheriff Pohank, "So when Theron Wiseman brought you to the old mine you found the deputy who was found to be part of the conspiracy, Darrell Bentley, tied up in the shed?"

"Yes, sir," said Pohank.

"How was he when you found your deputy waiting for you?" asked Horace.

The Sheriff snorted, "It was cold and wet by then. Bentley was struggling at those ropes and mad as a wet hen. Didn't like having that body lying by him in the mud. And sure didn't like giving up all that reward money!"

Horace lost no opportunity to associated Heyes with the shooting. "You mean Sean Gunther's body, whom Mr. Heyes had shot dead?"

"Yes, sir," said the Sheriff.

"And how do you know that he didn't like being next to the body and giving up the reward money?"asked Horace cautiously.

"Because he said so!" said the sheriff forcefully, "I don't recall the exact words, something like 'That . . . um he used a bad word . . .poet done me out of thirty thousand! And left that . . . bad word again . . . dead Gunther there with me!'"

"The poet – that would be Theron Wiseman, who was convicted of aiding and abetting Heyes and Curry in their escape from the scene of the crime?" asked the prosecutor.

"Yes, sir," Pohank nodded, "Bentley said that Wiseman had held a rifle on him while Heyes untied Curry and tied him up – that is, tied up Bentley."

"Was Deputy Bentley wearing his badge when you found him tied up in the shed?" ask Horace.

"No, sir. Wiseman had already given it to me. He said that he felt like somebody who'd gone that far wrong shouldn't be wearing that badge of the law." Pohank's official calm was strained.

"And how did you feel about that?" asked Horace.

Cole interrupted. "I object, your honor! The sheriff's feelings at that moment can have no bearing on this case."

Heyes fought off a smile. The question really was of little importance except to prove to the judge that Horace was straying from the case while Cole was staying faithfully with the relevant facts. The Judge grasped the point immediately. "I agree. The prosecuting attorney will please confine himself to evidence that is directly relevant to this case."

"Please describe the body of Mr. Gunther as you found it, sheriff," said Horace.

"He was lying on his back in the mud inside the shed, right next to where Mr. Bentley was tied up. It had been raining hard for nearly an hour. As Mr. Wiseman pointed out to me, Heyes and Curry had crossed Gunther's arms on his chest to make it easier to move the body into the shed out of the rain. The bullet had entered his mouth and blown off the top and back of his head. It was therefore evident that he had been shot by someone firing from a fairly low angle – so the upward trajectory of the bullet took off the top of the head. That's consistent with Heyes having been crouched down untying Curry when he turned to shoot Gunther. Gunther's body was still bleeding some when I found him, so it couldn't have been too long after he had been shot."

At this point, a woman in the gallery screamed at this explicit and gory description. There was a pause while the sensitive older woman was escorted from the court. It seemed to Heyes that the gallery contained an unusually high number of women.

At this point Horace had concluded his questioning. Cole asked permission to cross-examine the witness. Cole glanced up at the gallery, but no offensive remarks were made that could be heard. He was glad to look back at the sheriff and begin the real business of the trial.

"Sheriff Pohank, please describe Sean Gunther's gun as you found it when you were summoned to find his dead body and Deputy Bentley in the shed," Cole began.

"Yes . . . , sir," said Pohank, hesitating only very slightly at calling a black man sir in a day when most people called them "boy." "The gun was still in Gunther's dead hand, untouched so far as I could tell from when Gunther had died. Heyes and Curry had crossed his hands on his chest, as I say, but they evidently touched only the hand or even the arm and did not touch the gun at all. I guess they knew better than to mess with evidence even while they were trying to keep the body from being messed up by the rain. Pretty canny pair of men. One chamber of Gunther's Colt was empty. The next chamber was partially advanced and Gunther's finger was on the trigger. He must have been in the act of preparing to shoot when Heyes' bullet got him." There was a slight stir in the jury at this. Cole had made a telling point in favor of self-defense, just as he had said he would in his opening statement.

"Where," asked Cole, "was the bullet from Gunther's gun's first chamber?"

Pohank went on, "I found it embedded in the wood in the back of the shed. It would appear to have missed Heyes and the Kid very narrowly."

"How do you know that?" asked Cole calmly, before the anxious Horace could do so.

The sheriff took a swallow from a glass of water and answered. "I could see from the marks in the mud in the shed where the Kid had been tied and where Heyes had crouched to untie him. I made a drawing earlier to show you where everybody was. And I got the local photographer to come out and make photographs of those marks. You can also see where Heyes went to look at the body, and then went back into the shed. And you can see where Heyes and Curry went to drag the body into the shed."

Cole said, "Here, your honor and gentlemen of the jury, is that drawing, and here is the photograph."

"Please enter them into evidence as exhibits A and B, clerk," said the judge. He looked carefully at these exhibits and then they were passed among the jury.

"Anyway," continued the sheriff, "as you can see, a straight line drawn from where the marks show that Gunther stood when he fired, to where the bullet hit the wall, shows you that it passed within just inches of where Heyes was and where the Kid was behind him."

"Please refer to Mr. Curry by his proper name rather than his nickname," said the judge.

"Yes, sir," said the sheriff, "Mr. Curry had been tied up right back of Mr. Heyes, and the bullet passed right by them. Must have given them quite a scare. Can't think why he missed at that close range unless it was that Heyes moved just then."

"And how do you know," inquired Cole, "that Mr. Heyes or Mr. Curry, or anyone else, had not altered Mr. Gunther's pistol to partially advance the second chamber?"

"There's this new kind of evidence starting to be used," said the sheriff with some excitement, "called fingerprints. Each person in the world has a unique set of ridges on his or her fingers. These ridges make marks on whatever that person touches – especially on a smooth surface like the steel of a pistol. There were plenty of fingerprints on Gunther's gun – I handled it carefully and had it dusted with a type of powder that highlights fingerprints and I had it photographed. You can see there's plenty of finger prints, but they're all Gunther's. There are none of Heyes' - Mr. Heyes' or Mr. Currys' or anyone else's."

The judge said to the clerk, "Please introduce the photographs of the gun dusted with the fingerprint powder into evidence as exhibits C and D, and the image of Gunther's fingerprints taken from his death body as exhibit E, and Gunther's pistol itself as exhibit F."

The Judge leaned over and looked at the photograph and the pistol, and the full set of Gunther's fingerprints, and back and forth between them, in fascination. "Is it possible," the judge asked the sheriff, "that Mr. Heyes or Mr. Curry or anyone else could have touched the gun to alter it and then wiped their fingerprints off of the gun?" The jury also looked at these new exhibits very carefully. Most of them must have been very familiar with fire arms. Heyes could see some of the men studying their own hands – they had never heard of fingerprints before and they were somewhat taken aback to realize what kind of evidence of their actions they had been leaving behind without knowing it.

"Not in my opinion, your honor," said the sheriff. "That would produce either a very clean area on the gun with none of Gunther's fingerprints, or a smudged place. And there were no such blank areas or smudge marks on the operative parts of the gun – the trigger and the chambers. There are many superimposed fingerprints of Gunther's over those areas. And besides, not many folks know about fingerprint evidence, so not many would know to even try it. I have made it a bit of a specialty, but it really is very new, your honor."

Heyes looked up at Cole, who nodded at him. They had already discussed this. "We can question my client about that later, your honor, when he testifies." There were loud gasps and murmurs in the gallery and even in the jury. Most people had not realized that the defendant would testify. The judge had to hammer with his gavel to quiet the court.

"Sheriff," asked Cole, "in your opinion, what would have been the sequence of events during the shooting, judging from the wounds on the victim, the marks in the earth, the finger prints on the gun, the evidence of the gun itself, and the bullet in the wall, and any other evidence that you saw?"

"I can't be sure, sir. I suspect that what happened was that Heyes . . . Mr. Heyes was crouched over untying his partner when Mr. Gunther came up behind him outside of the shed. It was raining like mad, so it would have been hard for Heyes to hear him coming. I guess the . . . Mr. Curry would almost have to have seen Gunther coming - was right in front of him. I don't know if the gag was out of his mouth by then so maybe he said something. So Mr. Heyes, warned by Mr. Curry or hearing something, would have turned around real fast, perhaps as Gunther was shooting. Gunther's bullet missed him – that is, Mr. Heyes, narrowly. As Gunther pulled the trigger to shoot again, so the chamber started to advance, Heyes finished turning around and shot Mr. Gunther before he could finish firing the next bullet. Would have taken very fast shooting on Heyes' part, I would think, unless Gunther was real slow. But to know the exact timing, you'd have to ask Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry."

"They would scarcely be unprejudiced witnesses," said the judge. "But I understand that we will hear from Mr. Heyes later in his own defense. Do you have more questions for Sheriff Pohank, Mr. Horace? No? We have had a good deal of evidence entered for our consideration. Before more evidence is given, let us take a recess of one hour so the jury and the principles in the trial may refresh themselves."

Cole went back to Heyes. "Does he have it right?"

Heyes nodded, "Pretty close. But it's the timing where we could come to grief if they don't understand it precisely. It takes time for people to move and react, but almost no time for bullets to travel that tiny distance. He's right it took fast shooting. Most of them won't think I'm that fast, but as I told you, I am. We might have to prove that somehow. I don't know what the court'll permit on that. You might have to recall Pohank after I testify to confirm that my testimony is consistent with his. I just hope to God the Kid didn't come and that he doesn't come forward to testify! I haven't seen him here. I sure hope I never do. And you know why."

"Yes, I do, Mr. Heyes," said Cole, "I surely do."


	47. Chapter 47

During the lunch break, Heyes and Cole repaired to an elegantly furnished meeting room where they had some pretty good ham sandwiches waiting for them. Heyes' guards changed shifts at the same time. They wouldn't eat with their charge – only away from him so they could pay total attention to him every second. Heyes, who was feeling pretty hungry under the stress of the trial, began to eat. He was almost heedless by now of the chains weighting his arms and ringing harshly against the gleaming wooden table.

His lawyer left his sandwich sitting on the plate while he looked appraisingly at his client. "Mr. Heyes, you realize that this is it. You'll testify this afternoon."

"Yeah, sure," said Heyes between bites. "We've been all through it. Don't worry."

Hearing no response for a long moment, Heyes put down his sandwich and looked up at his silent young lawyer. "What, Mr. Cole? You said you wouldn't be able to give me the last instructions until you heard how the trial started. Now you've heard it. Well?"

"Mr. Heyes," started Cole uncertainly, "how can you be so casual? The other witnesses hardly matter at all. Just as I told you before, it's all going to come down to you. This is your freedom or confinement for the rest of your life!"

Heyes paused, gazing calmly at Cole. "I know that. It always is, for us, for the Kid and me. Can't you see that? We're used to it. Do you think it was any less of a knife edge when they slaughtered our families and we barely got away? Or when we rode out a few yards ahead of a posse shooting at us? Or when we opened a cell door and ran for it just before the sheriff got back? Over and over and over. Like when I killed that man to get the Kid loose and Wiseman had to come and save us. It's happened to us all the time since . . . always. We've learned to take what comes and watch each other's backs."

Cole's lips parted as this hit home. The sensation of constant risk was all too familiar to him. It wouldn't take much for a Negro lawyer to tempt the bigoted into violence and Cole had reason to know it.

Heyes had, in his short acquaintance with Cole, nearly always been serious, or grim, or even angry. Heyes gave a tiny hint of a smile and said, "Cole, I'm ready. As ready as I can be. Unless you have something more to tell me . . . ? Some fresh advice?"

Cole swallowed. "We don't know each other very well yet, Mr. Heyes. You've been incredibly straight forward and, well, honest with me. You've taken everything very seriously, as you should. Can I ask of you something, well, a little lighter? We need people to trust you and take to you. You've got to be subtle about it – not obviously playing for sympathy. But just be . . ."

"Nice? Charming?" Heyes started to laugh. Cole looked puzzled, but he nodded.

"What, you think I'd have trouble with that? And I agree, by the way. It's just what I need to do." Heyes laughed louder. "I guess you're too young to know who you're talking to. Do you think all I did with Devil's Hole was logistics and safe blowing and discipline?"

"Yes, Mr. Heyes. What else did you do?" Cole was genuinely in the dark.

Heyes chuckled and flashed Cole the brilliant grin that the young man had never seen or heard tell of. "The Kid and I worked with some of the best con men in the country! And we were as good as any of 'em! Well, that might be exaggerating a mite. Almost as good as almost any of them. My nick-name, well I don't like it much since I got shot in the head and had to fight to get a word out. But my old nick-name was the man with the silver tongue! If you want every woman in that courtroom to be lining up to get into my bed by the time I finish speaking, all I can say is, you'd better have a stick ready to beat 'em off with. Cause they'll be lined up and no mistake!"

Cole, grinning himself by now, replied, "Actually, I was thinking more about the men. Thirteen men in particular. And forget about getting into your bed. They just need to see you as a good, trustworthy guy who's not devious or deceitful or dangerous. They need to like you."

Heyes grinned again, "Well, that will be a con, 'cause I'm all those things beginning with D. Or, I was. But, fortunately, I do think I'm a pretty trustworthy guy these days. I try. Good, I'm still working on. But I can put it across, never fear. Though these chains won't make it any easier."

Cole sighed as he got up and got ready to escort Heyes back to the courtroom. "About that, Mr. Heyes, as I've told you, I can do nothing. The public has to think you're safely contained or the politicians think they'll take heat for being careless with public safety. So I can do nothing about the chains until after the trial. Then, I hope the law will take them off and leave them off forever."

"Take them off, maybe," said Heyes, no longer grinning. "But forever? That'll take more than one trial."


	48. Chapter 48

As they exited the meeting room and went out into the noisy and crowded hall, Cole passed very close to Heyes, seemingly by accident. From inches away he studied his client, seeing the tense muscles around his mouth, the slight widening of his eyes, the slightly sped up breathing, and the sweat breaking out on his upper lip. From a distance none of it would be perceptible – from close up the signs were unmistakable. Cole saw the judge going down the hall toward the courtroom. The young lawyer called out loudly, "Your honor! Please! May I have a few moments alone with my client, without these guards?"

The judge stopped, his arms crossed under his robes. "Aren't you afraid of being alone with this man accused of murder, Mr. Cole," he asked skeptically.

"Not in the least!" said Cole emphatically. "I trust him completely."

The judge paused, looking back and forth between the accused and his lawyer. "Very well," he nodded. "Five minutes, Mr. Cole. Guards, stay close outside the door, but don't listen through it! I'll stand here and keep an eye on you!"

Heyes looked in distress at Cole. Was he that obvious? Cole grabbed his arm and pulled his client quickly back through the door into the meeting room.

"Who was that outrageous performance intended to fool, Heyes!?" asked Cole "The guards?"

"No, Mr. Cole, not really," said Heyes, looking sheepish.

"Or me?" asked Cole.

"No. More like me." Heyes gave a nervous snort of laughter.

"Didn't work, did it?"Cole tried to look serious, but he couldn't help winding with a little smile.

"No." Heyes sat at the polished table, looking up at the standing Cole. The accused man's brow was furrowed and his eyes afire with anxiety.

"Come on, Heyes," said Cole, "what is it you couldn't tell me in front of the guards?"

Heyes looked his lawyer very straight in the eye for a moment, gauging how much he could really trust the man. "Privileged information?" He asked hesitantly.

"Privileged information!" answered Cole firmly. "No one will hear it from me."

Heyes nodded. "Alight. You know that the Kid and I have been straight for seven and a half years now? The reason we've been so careful about it is because four governors have been offering us amnesty and never coming through with it – Wyoming, Texas, Colorado – and Montana. It has to be a secret or the deal's off, so I sure couldn't say anything with those guards there. The amnesty could come through any day now – if I can get through this trial. It has to come through for me to graduate and they know it. All these years we've been walking a tightrope and now if I say a word wrong, it's all over!" Heyes closed his eyes and leaned his sweating forehead on his right fist, inches from the heavy manacle around his wrist.

"You can get through it fine, Heyes," said Cole calmly. "Many lies as you may have just told me, you really can come across as a likeable, trustworthy man – because that's what you really are! We really have been through all of this. As I keep saying, just go one question at a time. Don't try to plan ahead, because the prosecutor could easily change directions and trip you up. That's what he'll be trying to do. So just one question at a time. Just tell the truth."

"The truth!" sneered Heyes scornfully. "All that can do is keep me out of prison- let me avoid perjury. But that's nothing compared to what could happen to everyone I care about! If I tell the truth and the jury takes it the wrong way, or if I word something wrong, it could destroy everyone who's ever been good to me in any way, knowing my name, since I was fifteen years old! Everyone! My fiancée, my advisor, my friends at the clinic, at Columbia, all over the West, could all go to prison for aiding and abetting! I carry guilt around with me like the plague! You know that, lawyer!"

Cole nodded sadly. Heyes was absolutely right and there was little or nothing either one of them could do about it. Cole thought he might be able to protect Beth, due to her gender and her being Heyes' fiancée, but all of the others, he doubted.

Heyes' eyes were blazing. "And the Kid! My cousin – Jed Curry – for protecting dozens of innocent people – . . . If I say one wrong word, I could send him to the gallows! Or if everything goes perfectly, and the governors keep their words, we both could go free for life. At last. Or I could mess it up. . ."

Cole nodded again. "Heyes, you'll get through it. You will! Tell the truth, question by question, just as we went over it. Until you're really worried. Then stop and call on me. Say that you require council before you can continue. We'll see what we can come up with. If you're really sure that you can't answer a question, you can stay silent. You could go to jail for contempt of court, but at least no one else would be imprisoned or hung. Alright?"

"Alright," said Heyes in a tense whisper. "Thanks, Cole."

"Come on Heyes, did you really work with con men?" asked Cole with a teasing smile.

"Well, yeah. And we were pretty decent at it, the Kid and me, but never could work on our own without a good con to lead us. Glad to have you on board, Cole!" Heyes winked at his council. "Come on, time to get to court."

Cole paused asked in a whispered, "Heyes, is he . . .?"

Heyes knew what his lawyer was asking. Was the Kid there? Heyes nodded quietly. "They'd just better not call for him to testify, cause he sure would . . ."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As the pair left the meeting room, Heyes looked a little calmer, if still very keyed up. He walked with his head up and a light in his eye. His guards closed in around him, but he walked confidently, as if they weren't there.

As Heyes entered the packed, noisy courtroom, his eyes began to dart around the gallery. He was trying to catch the eyes of Beth, Charlie, and Jim. They were waiting in a knot near the door, but not near enough to make Heyes' guards nervous. His fiancée gave Heyes a brave smile, but he thought her eyes looked red. Jim, of course, was breathing fast with excitement. Only Charlie, knowing that Heyes would be looking for him, seemed perfectly calm and comforting.

Heyes did not dare to seek out the Kid's gaze. No one would notice that the scruffy, bearded young blonde man in the back row was watching the defendant particularly closely – so long as Heyes didn't look back at him. No one was watching the Kid – every eye in the room was on Heyes. The gallery grew restless as Heyes was not initially called to the stand.

The first witness after lunch was a Lodge Grass local named George Crowell. He was a scruffy looking guy with long, greasy hair.

"You are said to have drawn against Sean Gunther, Mr. Crowell," said Horace. "How fast a draw would you say he was?"

"Damned fast!" said the lanky ranch hand. He pointed at his own face, where a short scar marked his chin. "I ain't bad, but he got me right there!"

Cole stood. "Forgive me, your honor and jurors, if I imagine that Mr. Crowell would be bound to think that a man who beat him to the draw was fast. But we don't know how fast Mr. Crowell is! Speed at the draw is hard to measure with any accuracy when a man is alive – and surely impossible when he no longer is. Will we call a witness to Mr. Crowell's speed and then another to testify to the speed of that witness?" The gallery broke into nervous laughter.

The judge nodded "Mr. Cole makes a good point, but it is relevant to try to fix at least the rough relative measure of Mr. Gunther's speed to the draw. The man who began to draw first would almost have to be considered the aggressor in the contest we are judging here. The man with the faster draw may very well have drawn second but had his bullet fly first or at nearly the same time as the other man. It is impossible to match the two men again, but we can at least gain a rough idea. Therefore we will admit the prosecution's second witness on this point."

The second witness was Sheriff Pohank, recalled to the stand. Horace began, "Mr. Pohank, did you ever see Sean Gunther draw?"

Pohank nodded, "I did."

"Well, was he a fast draw?" asked Horace impatiently.

Pohank answered with deliberation, refusing to be hurried. "I saw Sean draw only the once, in a fast draw contest held at our local fair last September. He came in first." There was a stir among the gallery and the jury. "But I will say that I didn't enter and neither did my late deputy. And we are – were – the fastest draws in and around Lodge Grass."

Horace took a deep breath and a swallow of water, then asked "Sheriff, how would you rate Mr. Gunther's draw in general, as a gunman."

Pohank paused and thought. He answered slowly, knowing how much hung on his words. His gaze darted to Heyes and back to the prosecutor. "I'd say he was pretty fair. He wore his gun tied down. He wasn't a professional gunman, but he was serious about defending himself. He wouldn't beat a real fast-draw professional gunman, but any local ranch hand like George there would have done better to let the man alone." Heyes heard one of the jurors, a graying old cowboy, snort with laughter. But Heyes himself felt a little shiver go down his spine. How could he prove that he had beaten the man to the draw the one time when it really counted? Cole did not ask any questions of the Sheriff. There was nothing left to ask.

Horace said, "I believe that we have established the essential facts of the moment when Mr. Heyes shot down Mr. Gunther so far as we can without calling upon an eye witness. Therefore, I will now call the defendant himself to the stand."

The courtroom went deathly silent and all eyes focused on Heyes. Heyes drew a deep but silent breath as stood up from his seat at the defendant's table near the front of the court. He tried to keep calm, or at least to look calm. His every move would now be weighed in the balance. He resisted looking for Beth or his other friends in court. This he would have to do without their help. But there was one person he could count on. Heyes' gaze darted to Cole's face, and then back to the stand where he must testify.

Heyes, his chain ringing against the stone floor, moved slowly to the stand, with his guards helping him to move the heavy links. Yet still, he managed to have a tiny hint of a swagger to his walk. With this he told the jury that he wasn't letting a mere murder trial take away his spirit or his style. Cole, watching critically, could start to see the old con man at work. He stifled a grin of his own.

"You understand that you are still under oath, Mr. Heyes?" asked the judge.

"I do, your honor," said Heyes solemnly. The swagger was utterly gone as he stood respectfully ramrod straight in the stand.

Horace, nervous as always, stood before Heyes to start his questioning. "Mr. Heyes, could you please tell us where you were before you went to Lodge Grass in May of 1888?"

"Yes, sir," responded Heyes with a steady voice. "I was in New York City when the telegraph boy gave me the messages that told me I had to go to Lodge Grass." There was a stir of whispers from the gallery and the jury. This part of Heyes' life was unknown to everyone except the principles of the trial and Heyes' close friends.

"New York City?" asked Horace as if this surprised him, although he knew well what Heyes had been doing there. "What had taken you all the way to New York City? Have you not lived nearly all of your life west of the Mississippi River?"

Heyes nodded, "Yes, sir. I lived west of the Mississippi until I went to New York City in October of 1885. I went there to get medical treatment after having been shot pretty badly." This last phrase set off gasps in the courtroom. "I have spent most of my time there, other than summers and Christmas holidays, ever since."

"Indeed," said Horace. The skinny man seemed to gain confidence as he had his opponent where he wanted him. "What kind of medical treatment did you need in New York due to this shooting? And who shot you?"

"Objection!" cried Hardin Cole, leaping to his feet. "I see no relevance to these questions!"

"Objection sustained," said the judge, "unless you can explain how this is relevant, Mr. Horace. We are not here to violate the privacy of the defendant, only to determine his actions during a single incident three years after the moment about which you are asking."

Horace, twitching with nerves again, answered, "I believe that Mr. Heyes', um, handicaps, might help to explain his actions in Lodge Grass."

"I do not see that, Mr. Horace," said the judge. "Please leave this line of questioning. The jury will disregard that prosecuting attorney's last statement." Heyes did his best to avoid looking relieved, although he was. But the idea that he was handicapped in some way had been introduced to the jurors and it would be impossible to stamp out. Particularly since it was at least very mildly true.

Horace licked his thin lips and went on. "Mr. Heyes, how were you employed during your years in New York City?"

"Once I completed my . . . medical treatment, I became a university student," said Heyes, fighting his aphasia. He was looking at the jury rather than at his trembling questioner as he strove not to react to the gale of gasps from the stunned gallery. This information was utterly new to them. "I studied mathematics at the undergraduate and then at the graduate level. If I should be free at the end of this trial, I expect to be granted permission to graduate with a master's degree. With honors, by the way."

"A western outlaw was earning a master's degree in mathematics?" asked Horace in evident amazement, which seemed to be shared by the jurymen, whose eyes were riveted on the defendant.

"Yes, sir. My partner and I have long left being outlaws. We have stayed strictly straight with the law since November 1883. Well, except for a couple of jailbreaks that we could hardly avoid. Other than that, we've been as straight as possible. We've not even so much as jaywalked in more than seven years! I've always been good at math, so I'm studying so I can make an honest living."

The prosecuting attorney quickly moved past this sensational statement, although the jury was clearly paying more attention to Heyes than to Horace. One stout young miner in particular was staring at Heyes as if he was a circus side show. He was simply amazed and couldn't hide it.

"You mentioned a telegram that summoned you from New York City to Montana, Mr. Heyes?" asked Horace, stopping to wipe his brow with a large, white handkerchief.

Heyes, however, remained very calm. He was carefully taking Cole's advice, taking the questions one at a time and trying not to anticipate where each could go. "Actually, sir, two telegrams. Both from . .. friends, telling me that my partner, Jedediah Curry, had gone to Lodge Grass, Montana, and there had been arrested for murder. We had previously heard that a robbery there had been falsely blamed on the pair of us. That was what had raised the bounty on us from ten thousand each to fifteen thousand each"

"From what friends did these messages come?" asked Mr. Horace.

"Objection!" shouted Cole, "relevancy!"

"Sustained," responded the judge promptly, "please move on, Mr. Horace. We are not here to seek out and prosecute all of Mr. Heyes' friends. We have heard the testimony from the previous trial all about the false newspaper accounts that purposefully lured Mr. Curry to Lodge Grass, and we have heard how he was unlawfully captured and held captive." Heyes tried not to show it, but he was very relieved to hear that the judge would not be actively seeking to discover which people had helped Heyes and the Kid to stay free.

Horace wiped his brow again. "Mr. Heyes, once you had arrived in Lodge Grass, how did you find the shed where Mr. Curry was held captive?"

Heyes fought past his aphasia, desperate not to give away Jim and Professor Homer to the law, and yet not perjure himself. "I and two . . . acquaintances . . . we followed a woman one of my . . . acquaintances had seen leaving the hotel in Lodge Grass. Since we knew that Mr. Curry was not in the jail as he had been supposed to be, we figured someone was keeping him captive elsewhere. They'd have to be feeding him, if he was still alive. So when we saw a woman riding off with what looked to be a lunch bucket, we thought she might lead us to the K . . . to Mr. Curry. And so she did."

"That was Mrs. Gunther leaving the hotel?" asked Mr. Horace.

"I later heard that was who she was, yes," answered Heyes, "But I could not swear to it." He tried to stay calm. He and his friends were far from out of the woods.

"And your friends . . . your acquaintances . . . the men who were helping you to track Mr. Gunther – who were they?" Horace raised his eyebrows and glanced at the judge and at Hardin Cole, hoping for no objection here. There was none. This was too close to the case.

Heyes eyes were bright with anxiety, "I would prefer not to identify them. They were friends from New York City with no criminal history or intent."

"The court can best judge the intent and history of your friends, Mr. Heyes. Please identify them," said the judge firmly.

"You can hold me for contempt if you like, your honor, but I will not do so," said Heyes with a fierce edge to his voice. Seeing the eyes of the jury members, Heyes suspected that he had won more points with them than he had lost. The support of friends was a deeply held western value.

"Then I will!" said Charlie Homer, as he strode toward the bench with long strides, with the much shorter Jim Smith jogging to stay at his heels.

Heyes took a deep breath. He was desperately afraid of what would happen to his friends now, but there seemed to be nothing that they would allow him to do in their defense.

"Clerk, will you please swear in this gentleman?" said the judge. "The defendant will remain under oath and be ready to return to the stand when we have heard from this gentleman." Heyes nodded and stepped from the stand.

"Please state your name for the court," requested the clerk of this new witness.

"I am Dr. Charles Hawthorne Homer," said Charlie. He then was sworn in and took the stand.

"Sir," asked Mr. Horace, "what is your relationship to the defendant?"

"I am his advisor at Columbia University, where I am a senior professor. And I am his friend," said Professor Homer, the pride in his voice evident.

"And are you one of the men who went with him from New York City to Lodge Grass, Montana, in May 1888?" asked Horace.

"Yes, sir, I am," said Homer.

"And is this gentleman with you the other man who rode with Hannibal Heyes to Lodge Grass, Montana?"

"Yes, sir, he is." Heyes could hear the strain in his advisor's voice.

"And what is his name?" asked Horace.

"I will leave that to him to say," answered Homer.

"Very well," said Horace. The clerk swore in Jim Smith, who gave his name to the court as Joachim Gelbfisch. This was his true name. Heyes had known his friend's real name since not long after they had met, but Charlie Homer had never heard the name before. He had known that Jim Smith was an alias, but he did not know for what.

Jim further stated, "Mostly I go b-by James Smith – I hide my real name because a gang k-k-killed my family and t-t-tried to k-k-kill me. My real name c-could give me away t-to them. So please . . ."

The judge looked kindly at Jim, "Mr. Gelbfisch, the court appreciates the risks you are taking in order to avoid perjury." The judge, seeing the scars on Jim's face, could easily guess how they got there. "I will ask the press to please afford Mr. Gelbfisch the security of his assumed name. However, Mr. Gelbfisch, should the court discover that you are using an alias for nefarious purposes, this kindly stance can always be revoked." Jim nodded with his eyes very large.

"And how do you know Mr. Heyes?" asked Mr. Horace.

"He shared a room with me when he was at the c-c-clinic where I work – the Leutze clinic – and for a while after that," said Jim.

"And you went with him from New York City to Montana?" asked the prosecutor

"Yes, I d-did! He's my friend!" said Jim stoutly.

"Now that we have his fellow witnesses identified and under oath, the defendant can return to the stand if the prosecution wishes," said the judge. "However, both councils will be free to recall them at any time."

"Mr. Heyes," asked Horace, "did your two friends come with you to the mine shed where Mr. Curry was?"

"No, sir," answered Heyes, "they did not. I didn't want them in the way of any danger. I asked them to stay behind me on the trail and they did so, until Bentley the deputy surprised them and tied them up. I left my horse and an extra horse ground tied off the trail and I went to the shed alone. So Professor Homer and Mr. S . . . Gelbfisch, did not witness when I shot Mr. Gunther."

"And what did you do when you got to the shed, Mr. Heyes?" asked Horace.

"Once I saw Mrs. Gunther ride off and heard her say good-bye, I heard a guard take my partner out to . . . to relieve himself behind the shed. When they got back in the guard – I'm not sure who it was – probably Mr. Bentley – he went off. I waited for a while to make sure everyone but Mr. Curry was gone. And then I knocked on the door – gave a signal that Curry and I had worked out. He responded with our agreed upon signal that meant he was confined and alone."

"Go on, Mr. Heyes," urged Horace, "until you get to where you shot Mr. Gunther."

"Then I picked the locks on the door . . ." Heyes began, but Horace interrupted him.

"You had pick locks with you?" asked the prosecutor.

"Yes, sir. I always carry . . . carried them – in case of emergency. Until now. When I was arrested in New York, I told the officers where to find my pick locks. I've gone straight! I won't be breaking out of jail . . . not ever again." Cole resisted smiling. This was a point that he and Heyes had worked out very carefully to tell to his benefit. It was easy to see that the jury was impressed, especially the grey old cowboy and the big miner.

"Go on, Mr. Heyes," said Horace, "with what happened at the shed outside of Lodge Grass."

Heyes did so, "When I got inside, Mr. Curry was tied up and gagged on the dirt floor. I took the gag out of his mouth. Just then, I saw him look up at something, evidently something dangerous, behind me in the doorway of the shed. He started to speak to me, but I knew that I couldn't wait for him to say even a single word. I turned around as fast as I could, coming out of a crouch and drawing my pistol as I did so. As I finished turning I heard a gun go off and felt the bullet fly past me. Then I pulled my own trigger and Mr. Gunther fell. I went outside into the rain and looked at him to determine what shape he was in. He was dead, as Sheriff Pohank previously described, with the top back of his skull blown off. I was upset at that – I had never killed a man before and I sincerely hope never to do so again. But he had fired first and was sure gonna fire again if I didn't. So I had no choice." There were murmurs among the gallery and the jury. Heyes had made his point.

"Mr. Heyes, let us look at these events in greater detail," said Horace. The smooth words belied his long preparation for this moment. "Please explain your actions more precisely. We need to understand how you were able to shoot so quickly, even while you were turning around, before Mr. Gunther could pull his trigger a second time. This although he was standing still, facing you, while you were turning to face him, and getting up from crouching over to untie Mr. Curry."

Cole said, "Objection, your honor! Mr. Heyes cannot be expected to describe what happened behind him where he could not see."

The judge pounded his gavel. "Objection sustained. Mr. Horace, we cannot ask Mr. Heyes to explain what happened behind his back. We can only ask him to explain his own actions in detail." Horace nodded and gestured for Heyes to continue.

Heyes continued his narrative. "When I saw the look on the Kid's, I mean Mr. Curry's face, I knew that whatever was behind me was bad and dangerous. We've worked together a lot for a long time, so we understand each other real well. Since I was expecting nothing so much as one of the conspirators with a gun in his hand, that was just what I thought he must be seeing. And, in fact, when it turned, it was exactly what I found."

"Mr. Heyes," said Horace, "could you please elucidate – how long and how closely did you work with Mr. Curry? Was it really possible that, without his having time to say a word, you could understand what he saw behind you?"

Heyes nodded to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He had not expected this line of questioning and he was unsure of what kind of answer would make his situation better and what might make it worse. He spoke cautiously, desperate not to put his partner in jeopardy. He was particularly careful not to look up from the prosecutor or in any direction that could cause him to catch sight of his disguised partner in the back of the gallery. "Jed Curry is my second cousin." The gallery murmured loudly at this and the judge banged his gavel for order. That Heyes and the Kid were relatives was something that they had always kept secret in order to minimize the chances of peoples' using them against each other. It was sensational news.

Heyes continued his story once order had been restored. "Our mothers were cousins. I met Jed Curry on the day he was born, at the farm next to ours in Kansas. I wanted to hold him, but his Ma thought a two-year-old might be a bit small to hold a new baby and not drop him!" The court laughed. Heyes could not resist giving them their first glimpse of his stunning smile. He had to be careful to keep the grins to a minimum, he knew, or he would come across as too obviously trying to ingratiate himself with the jury. But he wanted to make sure that he and the Kid came across as caring human beings.

"Please go on, Mr. Heyes, about your association with Mr. Curry," said Horace, proddingly.

"We were real close as boys." He chuckled in fond recollection. "After our folks and our brothers and sisters were killed and our farms were burned in 62', we stayed together. Had a hard time. I was only nine and Jed was seven. And I'd been shot and had no one but little Jed to care for me." There were murmurs of sympathy around the court.

"Then we were put into the Valparaiso Home for Waywards together. Valparaiso was where I learned to pick locks and Jed and I both learned to shoot. We ran away together when I was fifteen and he was thirteen years old. And we went into the outlaw business together shortly after that time. Jed . . . Mr. Curry tried to go straight for a while, and we were with different gangs for a couple of years. But in 77' he joined up with the Devil's Hole gang, where I had recently taken over as leader. We were partners again from that time on and we still are. We rode together every day the first two years after we went straight. Then, I got shot bad and had medical problems, as I told you before."

"I had to go to New York to get medical treatment, while the Kid – Mr. Curry – stayed out West. But I always went back to where my cousin was living to see him every summer and every Christmas. I continued to do so after I concluded my medical treatments and became a student at Columbia University. So we've stayed real close. We both know how men breaking the law behave, like those conspirators. When I saw the look on Jed Curry's face in that shed, I knew he had to be seeing a man with a gun. Couldn't hardly be anything else."

Some of the jurors were nodding. Many of them appeared to be ranch hands or lawmen or other men with wide experience of the violent side of the West. They understood just what Heyes meant.

Mr. Horace licked his lips. He could feel the court's sympathies shifting in the direction of the defendant. There was little the prosecutor could do about that, at least for the moment. "Mr. Heyes, could you please continue to describe your movements in that shed, from the moment when you had taken the gag out of Mr. Curry's mouth?"

Heyes answered, "I spun around fast as I could, drawing my pistol and cocking it as I did so."

Horace interrupted Heyes, "You did all those things at once? How?"

Heyes gave a brief laugh. "From long practical experience, sir."

"Please go on, Mr. Heyes. When did you hear Mr. Gunther's gun go off and when did you fire your own gun?"

Heyes said, "I cocked my gun as I turned. I couldn't believe how long it was taking him to fire. But I knew I had to ready to fire just as soon as I was sure that he was firing at me. I was determined not to murder a man who might not be firing at me but only holding a gun on me. I've avoided murder all my life and I kept on avoiding it that day. So I didn't pull the trigger until I heard his gun go off and I felt the bullet go past me, just as I finished turning around. As soon as I heard that bang and knew he was firing at me, I pulled the trigger."

Horace exclaimed almost angrily, "Mr. Hannibal Heyes, do you truly expect us to believe that you would wait to fire until he fired on you just so you could stay on the right side of the law? You would take the chance of being shot down to avoid being a murderer?"

Heyes glared at the man in defiance. "I may not expect you to believe it, but it's true!"

Horace glared back, "Yet Gunther did not, in fact, shoot you."

"Yeah," said Heyes, "He missed me clean. I guess it was because of my turning."

"Are you saying that you moved so fast that you moved out of the way of Mr. Gunther's bullet before you fired your own?" asked Horace in amazement.

"No, of course not! That would be mathematically impossible!" said Heyes, taken aback that he had created the impression of so ridiculous a thing.

"Impossible? Please explain, Mr. Heyes, both why that was impossible and what you did mean by saying that Mr. Gunther may have missed you because you turned," said the judge.

Heyes answered with confidence in his facts. "Yes, your honor. As I said, that would be mathematically impossible. A bullet fired by a pistol travels at more than 850 feet per second, depending upon the model of gun and the bullet and charge used. And on first exiting the barrel, a bullet travels even faster than it does later in its flight. That means that a bullet fired the approximately 15 feet between Mr. Gunther and myself would take about 1/56th of a second or even less to travel that distance. No man could possibly move more than a tiny fraction of an inch in that amount of time. So I could not conceivably have dodged out of the way in that minute fraction of a second.

But I can only guess that when Gunther first saw me and calculated that he wanted to fire at me, I was bent over facing away from him. Perhaps he didn't know who I was or what I was doing there, or it was too dark for him to see me clearly in the shed with the heavy storm going and him out in the rain. I don't know. But for whatever reason, when he fired at me at last, he miscalculated. Maybe he didn't understand how very much faster a bullet is than a man and changed his aim because I was turning. He missed me, very narrowly. I felt the heat of the bullet pass by. He must have moved his hand to correct his aim before he fired again. It was that slight delay, as I suppose, that gave me time to fire. Or to put it more simply, he missed me and re-aimed and I returned fire before he could pull the trigger again." There was some muttering during this technical explanation. None of the jurors, for certain, was used to hearing ballistic facts explained in such exacting detail.

The judge said, "Pardon me, Mr. Heyes, but on whose authority are we to take these statistics about the speed of the flight of a bullet?"

"On mine," answered Heyes with solid confidence and a bit of a cocky smile

"Yours?! Are you a published authority on ballistics?" The judge was seriously startled and curious.

Heyes smiled briefly. "Not published quite yet, your honor, but nearly. Under my alias of Joshua Smith, I am a recognized authority in mathematics as it relates to the physics of ballistics. My Masters' thesis is actually on the explosive force and properties of dynamite and nitro glycerin as used in mining, and the mathematical formulas related to those things rather than on the closely related area of the flight of bullets. I have an article on the mathematics of explosive force and ballistics currently in press and due to appear next month in a scholarly journal. So at that time I will become a published expert in the field. I can assure you that I am well acquainted with the mathematics and physics of ballistics. My advisor, Dr. Homer, can confirm my expertise, as can several important mathematicians with whom I have corresponded in Germany, Switzerland, Austria, France, and England." The gallery and jury muttered in surprise at this utterly unfamiliar view of Hannibal Heyes as a scholar of international stature. Again, the judge pounded his gavel and called for order.

Horace now launched his key salvo, "Pardon me, your honor, but despite his impressive mathematical understanding of ballistics, it is well known that Mr. Heyes is slow at drawing a gun." There was some chuckling in the jury box. The judge quashed the noise with his gavel and a disapproving look.

Horace continued, "Mr. Curry is known as possibly the fastest gun in the West, while Mr. Heyes has been quoted in the press describing himself to a sheriff as "slow as molasses in January." The defendant evidently concentrated on opening safes and left the shooting to his partner." Horace got another laugh with that – he hoped that he could feel the jury's sympathies moving to his side. Horace went on, "Mr. Heyes has been away from the West and his criminal enterprises for the past five years in New York City, where he must have fallen considerably out of practice with a gun. Mr. Gunther was not a famous fast draw, but, as we have heard Sheriff Pohank testify, he was a prize-winningly fast gunman. I do not see how it would be possible that the slow Mr. Heyes, while turning around, could return the standing Mr. Gunther's fire so quickly that Gunther could not get off a second shot. Therefore Heyes must be lying. As much the slower of the two men at the draw, he must have begun to draw before Gunther did. Gunther would have drawn only in response to Heyes, even through his much faster draw allowed his bullet to arrive first."

Now there were loud exclamations all around the court, including from jurors. One fiery young juror started angrily to his feet, before recovering himself and sitting back down. Heyes looked daggers at the prosecuting attorney who had just called him a liar in public, although this was largely theater. This was an unforgivable insult and one that would, if substantiated, invoke perjury charges. But of course, the murder charge would come first. And Heyes and Cole had been expecting this accusation all along.

Cole stood up and with deliberate heat said, "Your honor, may I please have permission to rebut this serious accusation against my client?!"

The judge nodded. "Go on, Mr. Cole."

"My client," said Cole, trying to keep his tone light, "is a slower draw than his partner, as he will readily admit . . . but so is nearly everyone living!" This caused much laughter in the gallery and even in the jury. The judge did not suppress this reaction, but it quickly died as everyone was so eager to hear what the lawyer would say next.

"Mr. Heyes has, for strategic reasons, kept his own proficiency with a gun something of a secret. My client is, in fact, quite fast with a gun and extremely accurate. There is a good chance that he could fire faster than Mr. Gunther, or at the very least, at about the same rate of speed. I can easily obtain records proving that Mr. Heyes, during most of his time at Columbia University, routinely practiced shooting at a gun club in New Jersey. Mr. Heyes attended as the guest of a well financed friend who did not know his true identity. An employee there proclaimed Mr. Heyes an expert level marksman and this, I am told, is included in the records of his shooting sessions. I can obtain those records if necessary."

Cole gave yet more support to the image he was creating of Heyes as a fast gun, "When he was visiting his cousin between semesters, Mr. Heyes practiced shooting at rural locations. If required, I can produce witnesses to that effect. And before he began shooting at the New Jersey gun club, when in New York he practiced at a farm on Long Island. Against, I can produce a witness to that if necessary."

"Rather than confirming any such indirect information, I think," said the Judge, "that the best way to prove Mr. Heyes' speed with a gun would be to have him demonstrate it for us first hand. Then Sheriff Pohank and some others who have seen Gunther fire can judge for us whether Mr. Heyes or Mr. Gunther might have been the faster shot or whether they were roughly the same. Mr. Heyes, would you be willing to demonstrate for us how you turned and shot at Mr. Gunther?" This caused a noisy sensation in the gallery, which the judge gaveled down and even needed to shout, "Order in the court!"

When things were finally quiet enough for him to speak, Heyes answered, "I am willing to give such a demonstration, your honor. However, I cannot do so as I am. My chains and manacles and leg irons would have to be removed and I would need to be provided with a gun and a holster from which to draw it. My own gun would be preferable, since that is the weapon I used on the day in question. But even so, with an unloaded gun I would not be able to demonstrate the timing of the shot correctly. To demonstrate the speed of my firing, I would need to be able to fire a blank so that you could hear the timing of the bang and, more importantly, see the muzzle flash. That is because sound travels far more slowly than light. For people standing some distance away, as the jury would have to be, it would make a difference. But I cannot fire a blank safely in the courtroom."

"Very well, Mr. Heyes," said the Judge. "I will ask that tomorrow morning a proper outdoor demonstration with blanks on a shooting range be arranged so that the jurors and I and Sheriff Pohank and other acquaintances of Mr. Gunther's can see it. Is that agreeable to you, Mr. Cole, Mr. Heyes, and Mr. Horace?"

"It is, your honor," said Cole. Heyes and Horace joined him in agreement.

"I will communicate arrangements for this demonstration with the jury and other court officers as soon as I know them. Court is adjourned until 10:00 AM tomorrow, when we will meet at a venue to be arranged!" proclaimed the judge.

The judge stepped down from the bench amid utter chaos as it seemed everyone in the room started talking at once. The men of the press rushed out to write their stories and telegraph to their papers. Tomorrow, all of this would appear in papers around the new state of Montana. Heyes and Cole were silent, exchanging a nervous glance. What impact would the publicity have on their situation? The Kid gazed intently at his partner, who did not dare to look back. The Kid's fate hung in the balance as much as did Heyes'. It had never occurred to Heyes or the Kid before that Heyes' modest speed with a gun might save him one day not at the scene of a robbery or in a dusty street, but in a court of law.


	49. Chapter 49

Heyes guards helped him out of the crowded courtroom, pushing strangers aside and trying to keep the chains from tripping anyone. Heyes looked around for his friends. Beth, Charlie, and Jim were waiting in the hall near the courtroom door. Jim gave Heyes a thumbs up and shouted, "Hang in there, Heyes! We're with you all the way!" Heyes gave Jim a grin. He could see a reporter writing down the quote and looking around for more news on the hoof. Charlie Homer, his identity already given away, dared to give his most famous advisee and friend an encouraging smile and wave.

Beth gazed sadly at Heyes, unwilling to shout out to him across the surging crowds. Heyes longed to communicate with her in some way beyond a lingering look, but didn't want her in the newspaper as his girl. That could do her no good as she went on with her life after he was locked up for good. He felt hopeful about his current trial, but harbored no illusions about his chances when the inevitable armed robbery trials followed.

As Heyes made his way down the steps and across the street, flash powder went off over and over from the newspaper photographers who had gathered to document the trial. Soon his marshals were rushing Heyes across the street to the jail in his chains. A cordon of lawmen kept back the masses of people gathered to gawk and shout and sell popcorn. In addition to the people shouting and chanting Heyes' name, there were even people carrying signs by now. One in rough hand printed black letters proclaimed, "Wyoming for H. Heyes," as if he was a candidate for public office. Heyes shook his head in utter bewilderment. What on earth had he ever done to make anyone who'd never even met him care about him? But then again, there were always the sour people, like the old woman in black by the side of the road, telling Heyes that he was bound for a bad end and a worse eternity.

Heyes sighed to himself as he walked. He thought of all the years of care that he and the Kid had taken to keep their faces and their family relationship and so many other things secret. It was all shot now. Halftone images of Heyes would appear the next day in local papers around Helena. The next day and the days after and for days thereafter Heyes' face would ornament papers and magazines across the country as fast as photographs could be shipped and the photographic metal printing plates known as electrotypes could be exposed, processed, cast, inked, and printed. Heyes grimaced wryly as he thought that his face would never be obscure again. In the unlikely event that he actually did get to pursue an academic career, his true identity and infamous past would be crystal clear to every prospective employer. His chances to teach were probably finished. There were plenty of other things he could do – but only if he stayed out of prison and anyone could be found who would trust him with numbers.

The only person Heyes encountered who didn't already know every detail of the first day of the trial was the guy in the cell next to his. As Heyes' marshals returned him to his cell, Duffy Powell called out with his unfailing cheerfulness, "Well, Heyes, how'd it go?"

Heyes, relieved of his heavy chains, sat dejectedly on his bunk. He faced away from Powell so he could look down the hall and see any visitors coming from a long way off. "They ain't hung me yet, Powell. It's just second degree, so I won't swing, but they'll lock me up for a long time if my lawyer doesn't manage to get me off. Tomorrow I get to prove I can turn and fire faster than the guy I shot could fire standing – or at least as fast. Don't know who they'll get to play his part. I'm not looking forward to it. All those crowds staring at me gives me the willies. How's things with you?"

Powell shrugged, "Fair to middlin', Heyes. Thanks for askin'. With you around getting' all the publicity, nobody notices me and my little local murder trial. Just as well. They hang me at dawn tomorrow."

Heyes whirled around at least as fast as he hoped to do the next day. "What? Oh my God, Powell, I am sure am sorry to hear that! You've been awful nice to me! Is there anything I can do?"

"Nothing, Heyes, but it's good 'a you to ask. I just look forward to getting' it over with, to tell you the truth. Not even my mother came to see the trial. Wouldn't do her no good. Any of your kin here?"

"I'm sorry about the kin, Powell. I'm sure they're thinking and wondering and hoping. No, I've got no kin living. All killed long ago – except the Kid – he's my cousin," said Heyes, feeling even lower and lonelier than ever. He wondered who, if anyone, would take the cell next to him when Powell was gone. He would miss the man. He might be a murderer, but he seemed like a decent guy. "If you don't mind my asking, who'd you kill?"

For the first time, Powell sounded sorry and sad as he said, "My brother. And no, I don't want to talk about it none."

Heyes didn't know what to say to that. But no wonder the murderer's mother had not come to the trial!

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If Heyes could have seen the gathering in a Helena hotel suite that evening, he would have been touched. He would also have been furious.

In addition to the visitors from New York that Heyes knew about because he had seen them in court, Beth Warren, Charlie Homer, and Jim Smith, the room was filled with an uneasy crowd of Heyes' friends including Matthias Peale, Neal George, Everett Carter, Polly Moore, and Paul Huxtable. Beth was glad to have a fellow woman along to comfort her. It was terrible for her not to be able to communicate with Heyes at all.

Diana Hargrove and Dr. Leutze had remained in New York to handle communications, finances, and damage control there. Dr. Hargrove had already reported that concerned deans seemed to be figuring out who their brilliant student with the bland alias really was. Between newspaper reports and campus rumors, they had plenty of information to work with. When the reports of that day's testimony arrived in New York, Heyes' cover would be finally and utterly blown.

As Jim and Charlie finished filling in the others on the day's testimony, there was an unexpected knock on the hotel room door. All fell silent. Charlie Homer went to answer the door. He had a gun in his hand as he asked cautiously, "Who is it?"

"I'm Karen Horn from Columbia!" came the answer with a decided Texas twang. Everyone looked at one another – what was the young woman math student doing there? She was just a student of Heyes'. She was an enthusiastic student with a pretty obvious crush on her handsome teaching assistant, and she had seen the arrest because she had been Huxtable's date at the park dance. But she wasn't supposed to know who Heyes really was. As when Diana Hargrove had shown up at the last meeting of this group, they seemed to have an unexpected new ally. Would she be as helpful as Diana was being?

Beth spoke up, "Please let her in, Charlie! She might be able to do more for our friend than all the rest of us put together. Remember when we met at your apartment after the arrest and I said there might be something I could do about the amnesty? Well, she's it! So she already knows who he is. But then, half the country does by now."

So Homer holstered the gun and opened the door. "Please come in, Miss Horn. I am sorry for the delay, but I think you must understand why we have to be careful. There isn't anyone else in the hall, is there?"

"No, sir. There was someone from the press hanging around earlier, so I left and waited until he was gone before I came back," whispered the strawberry blonde beauty as she entered, with a careful glance behind her. She looked around the over-filled hotel suite curiously. She had met everyone except Polly from the Leutze Clinic before, so the two were quickly introduced.

Beth explained in a low voice that they hoped could not be overheard through the door, "Miss Horn is trying to help Heyes. She's from Austin, Texas, and she knows Governor Hogg. I asked her to send a telegram to the governor telling him what a good professor Heyes has been and how much he's helped her to deal with the trouble other male professors have given her."

"Thank you, Miss!" said Jim. "We all sure appreciate anything you can do!"

"I don't know if my little telegram could have any impact, but I can only try," said the young Texan. "I'll admit, I was mighty taken aback when Miss Warren told me who Joshua Smith really is and what kind of trouble he's in. But I know he's a good man and I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Pardon me, Miss Horn," said Charlie, "but will you also do what you can to help Heyes' partner?"

Miss Horn refused to look scared despite Kid Curry's dangerous reputation. "I've never met Mr. Curry, but since he and Mr. Heyes are so close, I'm glad to do what I can to help him. He isn't here, is he?"

The room fell silent. "Yes," said Charlie Homer very quietly, "he is. I mean, not here in this suite. I don't know where he's staying, but he was in court today and I guess he will be tomorrow, too. He's in disguise, but it won't protect his identity from anyone who really knows him. I think all we can ask at this point is that you not give him away."

"Of course I wouldn't!" said Karen.

"Good!" said Ev Carter. "Would you like some fried chicken?" Karen nodded and began to dig into the wonderfully fragrant picnic basket that Carter passed her way along with a napkin and a fork.

"And biscuits and lemonade and collard greens! We've got all kinds of good stuff here!" said Peale. "We don't dare eat together out in public, so everybody brought something for dinner. If you haven't eaten, you're welcome to join us. Just don't spill on the professor's bed clothes, please! And everybody keep your voices down – we don't want it to be too obvious that we're here."

"Yeah," said Neal George. "We don't want to be in court where we could upset Heyes. He doesn't want us here where we could get charged with aiding and abetting. But if he needs a character witness or two – or three – or nine – he's covered."

The room filled with soft, companionable laughter.

As evening fell, the newsboys swarmed in the streets of Helena, Montana. The piping voices cried, "Hannibal Heyes on trial for murder! Read all about it!"

Jim Smith slipped out of the pro-Heyes' conspirators' room to buy a handful of local newspapers filled with news of Heyes' sensational trial. He laughed as he handed them out, saying, "We're famous, Charlie!" The fuzzy grey pictures reproduced on the front page included a blurry picture of Heyes outside the courtroom in his glasses and a picture of Charlie and Jim standing together. The caption of that one reversed the men's identities, much their amusement.

"When did you get to be a professor, Jim?" asked Ev Carter with a chuckle, as he nibbled on a drum stick.

Beth began to read a column on the trial. She tut-tutted over the poor syntax of the sentences and the over-wrought description of the man she knew so well:

"One has heard so much about how charming and handsome Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes are, and how they have induced the common folk of Wyoming and surrounding states and territories to love them, that a hard-bitten reporter who has had such fairy tales disproven too often expects the real men to be as crude, coarse and ugly as any common cowboys who have been exposed to the harsh western conditions for too many years. [Failing grade for that winding sentence, thought Beth.] The recent novel published on the pair of heroic outlaws, in addition to the several times they have appeared in the news in recent years, have maintained their celebrity despite their having left outlawry behind some years ago. And yet since no photographs of Hannibal Heyes have ever previously been published and the descriptions of him on wanted posters across the west have been varied and vague and scarcely evocative, despite his fame one was very unsure of what to expect from the real man when seen in person. From the wanted posters we could know only that he would have dark eyes, dark hair, and be about 38 years old and about five feet eleven inches tall.

It was therefore with fascination that I beheld the defendant brought before the court. I can report that while the above description is technically correct, it does nothing to evoke the magnetic and impressive person of Hannibal Heyes. Any description is bound to fall short, but I will attempt one. He is, as was to be expected, a man of just above medium height. He is slender and of surprising grace for someone burdened with manacles, leg irons, and heavy chains. He has keen brown eyes, fair coloring, and long, straight chestnut brown hair beginning to show a trace of grey at the temples. He appeared clean shaven and well groomed, with his hair neatly brushed back. Having lately come from not his native Wyoming but rather New York City, he was dressed in a fine black suit in the latest fashion of that city. He was sporting, to the surprise of all, a pair of gold wire rimmed spectacles that made him appear quite scholarly. This turned out to be a very correct impression, as I will describe. His voice is a light baritone and he speaks excellently educated English though with a western accent. The dominant impression that he gave throughout the proceedings was of a man of intense feelings, great sensitivity, and impressive intelligence. No one should be surprised that no sheriff was ever able to catch this formidable outlaw until he gave himself up willingly to the marshals in New York last week.

To the many ladies in court, Mr. Heyes was a sight of great interest, thought it is true that the men watched him just as intently. One young lady seated behind this reporter was heard to exclaim that it was a great shame that his former profession had kept Mr. Heyes so much away from the public gaze. His handsome, dimpled looks were so striking that he would seem to have been made for the stage. Mr. Heyes remained very serious and respectful for almost the entire proceedings. But on the rare occasion that the defendant smiled – as he did in speaking of his partner's birth - every female within a mile could be heard to sigh. Well, the reporter exaggerates slightly – it was only every female in the actual courtroom. If any ladies outside the courtroom sighed, they were beyond my range of hearing."

Beth gagged at this and stopped reading. She only hoped that Heyes would never read any of this drivel! There was certainly no news value in the piece and one of its few facts – Heyes' state of origin – was wrong. Charlie Homer called Beth's attention to another column that gave a slightly more factual account of the trial, although it messed up both the statistics about the speed of the flight of a bullet that Heyes had given and the identification of Heyes' own academic specialty. It also called Heyes a graduate student at New York University. "NYU!" exclaimed Huxtable in sputtering fury, "This idiot writer wouldn't know Harvard from Yale!"

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Heyes was woken before dawn by the guards arriving to take Duffy Powell out to hang. "God bless you, Powell!" said Heyes sadly.

"Thanks, Heyes. That'd be nice," said Powell with a mocking grin. "I doubt it, but it'd be nice. Good luck with your trial." Then the personable murderer went whistling down the jail hall to meet his fate. Heyes gazed after him in wonder and admiration at the man's spirit.

Heyes, who might also been seen as a personable murderer, of course could not get back to sleep after that awful moment. He finally gave up trying. He called his guards so he could relieve himself, clean up, eat, and dress. Knowing what he would need to do that morning, Beth had made sure that Heyes would be provided with appropriately comfortable and informal clothing. In fact, although she could not have known it, what she had sent was precisely what Heyes had worn on the day in question, from the golden brown boots and pale brown pants and the navy blue shirt to the battered black hat. Even the underwear was right.

The marshals came for their prisoner. One tall young blonde smiled as he saw how Heyes was dressed, rather than in the formal suits they had seen so far. "So that's how you used to look out West, Heyes?" he asked as he unlocked the cell.

"Yeah, Marshal," said Heyes. "Somehow I never could manage to find another hat I liked this much, even after a bullet went through it one time." He put his finger through the hole and wiggled it.

"Where's the range, Marshals? Nearby? Or a wagon ride away?" asked Heyes as he walked down the jail hall in his chains. He was starting to develop calluses where the manacles and leg irons rubbed.

"Wagon ride, Heyes," said an older marshal. "Here it is, with the press waiting to ride alongside in their own rigs. Get on in. You need help?"

Heyes nodded. "Please, boys." He pointed at the heavy chains, indicating that he needed help with them. "Must be coming on to rain," said Heyes. "My hip aches where I got shot a while back. I'm gettin' to be as old and creaky as any grandpa." He rubbed his sore hip for comic emphasis as he climbed stiffly into the wagon, then helped his guards up beside him. The marshals laughed at their charge. As they got used to each other day by day, both lawmen and prisoner relaxed and were less hostile if not downright friendly with each other. But when Hardin Cole arrived, no one helped him up into the wagon except Heyes, who reached down a hand.

The day was warm and overcast. As they rode along out of town, the road dust rose around the wagon and settled on the passengers. They could use the promised rain. A few minutes outside of town the wagon came to the shooting range where the judge had arranged the demonstration. There was no mistaking it – there was a crowd of hundreds gathering out in the otherwise empty hills like it was a country fair. More riders and more wagons kept coming in.

"Whatever made you so darned popular, Heyes?" asked a marshal in fun.

Heyes shook his head. "I couldn't tell you, Marshal. I've avoided crowds for over twenty years and done it pretty well – until this week. It's just when I'm with you that they come around. So I think it ain't me attracting 'em – it's you!" Heyes winked good naturedly. Everybody laughed, including Heyes and the guys in the press wagon next door. A couple of marshals got down from the wagon first, and then they helped Heyes down. He grimaced as he landed on the hard ground. His hip really was bothering him. The former outlaw just hoped his old wound wouldn't slow his moves when it counted. Again, no one but Heyes helped Cole.

Heyes and his guards and his lawyer went to the heart of the crowd where the judge stood in a suit. His robes would have been badly out of place here. There was a gathering of chairs in the dusty field for the judge, the court clerks, the respective lawyers, and the jury. The gallery stood all around. Heyes carefully did not look at the jury – he didn't want to be seen trying to be friendly with them. The judge said, "Good morning, Mr. Heyes. You look dressed for the occasion. Please regard yourself as being still sworn in. Are you ready?"

"Once somebody gives me my gun belt, gun, and blanks, and helps me off with these chains, I will be you, your honor," said Heyes.

The judge nodded to a clerk who came forward with the very articles that Heyes had requested. The marshal had to help him off with his manacles, leg irons, and chains before he could put on his gun belt. There was such a cordon of lawmen around the perimeter of the emptied field around Heyes that it was clear that any attempt at escape would be suicidal. The young blonde marshal, as he withdrew with a rattling armload of chains, whispered, "Good luck, Heyes!"

Heyes smiled but did not reply, lest he give away the kindly lawman's tiny infraction.

The gun and gun belt handed to Heyes were his own and his knew them about as well as his own skin, but it felt very odd to him to have a stranger hand them to him. The gun, of course, was unloaded, and the gun belt emptied of its usual load of ammunition. Once Heyes had buckled his old gun belt and tied down the holster, he checked his pistol. He spun the chambers and sighted down the barrel. He nodded his satisfaction with the weapon's condition. He had left it in his apartment clean and well oiled and it was still in that condition, so someone must have cleaned and oiled it for him in the mean time. Then the clerk handed him a box of blanks. "I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Heyes, that blanks cannot be fired safely at close range. So we will position you a good distance from the jury and other principles. Marshals, if you could please move back the crowd to a safe distance of at least fifty feet. And our man firing in place of Mr. Gunther will stay much farther from you than he really was – can't have you hurting each other!"

The marshals had a hard time moving the crowds back. Large groups of people are hard to back, and no one wanted to give up a good vantage point. While the lawmen were at work, Heyes looked around seemingly at random. Sure enough, Charlie and Jim and Beth were among the crowd, trying not to be near the front row. And there, very far back, was an ordinary looking blonde man with a rough, short beard. The Kid's gaze briefly crossed Heyes' for the first time since the trial had begun. He looked anxious, but so did everyone there. Heyes hastily looked away and his eyes did not stray in that direction again.

Finally, all was in readiness. A court clerk crouched in the dirt to act as the Kid. Another court official stood nearby with his own gun loaded with blanks at the ready. The judge shouted for order, but of course could not add in the court, since they were far from any court.

Heyes stood there, yards from anyone except the clerk who was being the Kid. "I feel kinda' foolish, your honor," said Heyes loudly so his voice would carry to the judge and jury as well as the crowds. "All this fuss being made. This won't take long, you know – so long as we all do what we're supposed to do."

"I know Mr. Heyes," said the Judge, projecting his voice to the crowd, "You see the line in the dirt that represents the walls of the shed. Is it accurate?"

"It is, your honor, or as close as it needs to be" answered Heyes. "The place was a little smaller, really."

"And is our "Curry" correctly positioned?"

"Yes, your honor, so long as he crawls toward me some as I go in, as Mr. Curry in fact did." the defendant answered.

"We may have to do this a few times to get the timing correct. We are talking about tiny fractions of seconds. If it happens wrong, you will please correct us, Mr. Heyes," said the judge. Heyes nodded. "Our man enacting Mr. Gunther will draw but wait until you have completed your turn to fire and then fire as quickly as possible as you have indicated that Mr. Gunther did. You will fire at that moment, as you say that you did, Mr. Heyes. After his first shot, our marshal will adjust his aim and then fire again as fast as he can so that we can understand the time that would have been necessary for those actions.

Our man has been chosen as a pretty fast shot, Mr. Heyes. He is, in fact, a federal marshal who has won awards for his marksmanship and speed. However, jury, you must remember that our marshal is not identical to Mr. Gunther. He may be faster or slower than the slain man was. He is most likely to be a bit faster on the draw. We cannot know – he will give you only a fair estimate of what is possible. We will repeat this procedure until we get it right or as close as is practicable. Don't hesitate to give us directions to correct any errors, Mr. Heyes. Are you ready, Mr. Heyes, clerk, and marshal with the gun?" All three men nodded. "Are you satisfied with the preparations, prosecuting attorney?"

The mousy Mr. Horace, in a dusty but very proper suit that was singularly out of place in this setting, said, "Yes, your honor. I hope that this demonstration will be taken in the proper spirit, as an exploration of what could possibly have happened rather than a necessarily accurate recreation."

"Yes, Mr. Horace. I believe that I have already instructed the jury to that effect," said the judge with irritation, "Very well, you may proceed, gentlemen."

Heyes knelt at the spot in the dust outline that stood for the shed door. He made a gesture symbolic of picking the lock. Then he lunged into the outline that stood for the shed, moving toward the pretend, "Kid," who inched toward Heyes as he had been instructed. Heyes leaned forward and gestured to the man's mouth as if removing a gag. Then Heyes spun around like lightning, drawing and cocking his gun with perfect coordination as he rose from his crouch. This impressive display drew a virtual storm of gasps from the crowd and even the jury and a smattering of applause. The marshal with the gun was so stunned by the speed of Heyes' turn and draw that he did not fire until Heyes had been fully turned and standing upright for at least two seconds. Heyes never fired at all, carefully uncocking his gun before returning it safely to his holster.

"Well, you know that's not right," said Heyes clearly, trying not to sound too annoyed.

"Sorry!" said the marshal. "You caught me by surprise, Mr. Heyes! You're fast as any rattler!"

"The marshal will please refrain from expressing such opinions!" said the judge in annoyance. "Let's do it again, gentlemen."

Cole shouted, "One moment, your honor! I want to point out something that is now clear. The moment of Mr. Heyes' draw is not, it seems, of overriding importance here. Rather it is the moment that he chose to fire. Clearly, he is capable of drawing and cocking without firing should he see at the very last instant that it is not necessary to actually fire. In this case it had to do with the accuracy of this demonstration. In the shed where Mr. Gunther was shot, Mr. Heyes could have held up if he decided that the man behind him was not firing at him, if we are to believe his testimony. Whether Mr. Gunter did something similar, waiting until he could identify who Mr. Heyes was, we can never know. He might have thought, in the darkness of the storm, that he had surprised one of his own fellow conspirators who had simply carelessly left the shed door opened."

The judge nodded. "I agree, Mr. Cole, that the jury ought at least to consider that possibility. I apologize for my previous insistence on the important of beginning the draw. The jury may well decide that I was wrong and the pulling of the trigger is of far great importance than the draw. We will leave that to the jury members to decide for themselves." Horace frowned at this. The backbone of his case was in clear danger now.

The judge said, "Gentlemen, are you prepared to repeat the demonstration?"

Heyes nodded and so did the marshal. The false "Kid" moved back to his starting position. The marshal with the gun nodded that he was ready. Heyes went back into his play acting, and again his lightning fast turn elicited gasps. This time the anxious marshal fired too soon, before Heyes had completed his turn. However, Heyes also drew, cocked, and fired in response to the marshal's shot, the bang of his gun following so quickly after the marshal's blank shot that it was hard to tell when the one ended and the other began. Heyes' reactions had been incredibly fast. The crowd erupted in exclamations of surprise and admiration. The jury was giving this demonstration their riveted attention. They were clearly impressed.

The judge's eyes opened wide and Mr. Horace's even wider. That Heyes was a very fast draw was already evident. Horace looked increasingly nervous. His case was going down in flames.

"Alright, gentlemen, again," said the judge, "if our respective attorneys agree." Both men nodded.

Heyes again did his play acting of lock picking, gag removing, and he spun and drew, cocked and fired with identically lightning speed to his last go around. Now the timing was perfect. The marshal fired his blank just as Heyes' face came around to look toward him and Heyes' shot came after it just as rapidly as before, the two bangs almost blending into one. The marshal's second shot came slightly but noticeably after Heyes had fired, although he had fired as rapidly as he could. Cole could not help grinning at Heyes as the crowd burst into spontaneous applause. The judge, without his gavel to hand, merely shouted "Settle down! This is not a play on the stage!"

An old coot in a moth-eaten cowboy hat responded, "But it's as good as one!" The crowd laughed and so did the judge.

"Good work, clerk and marshal," said the judge as he regained his composure. "Are you satisfied, Mr. Cole, Mr. Horace, Mr. Heyes, and jury foreman?"

"I am, your honor," said Cole. "I believe that my client has clearly demonstrated his ability to separate draw from fire, and his impressive speed on the draw – and the accuracy of his description of events."

Horace answered stiffly, "I am satisfied with the demonstration, so long as it is not taken for a perfect recreation."

Heyes nodded, "That's just the way it happened, your honor, as close as I could ask. Any difference in relative timing was too tiny for me to detect or describe. Your marshal has done his job admirably. That timing wasn't easy." Cole smiled. It obviously had been easy – for Heyes. His performance had been precisely perfect every time, except for his not bothering to fire on the first try. The consistency of Heyes' movements would tell heavily with the jury. He had obviously done this before –and they knew just when and where and to what effect.

The jury foreman, a dignified little round man in a dark suit, stood up and spoke in a disconcerting bass voice, "We have seen what we came to see, your honor. What Mr. Horace had said was impossible is, in fact, possible. Mr. Heyes could choose to fire only when he knew that he was being fired upon and yet fire so rapidly that no one I have ever seen shoot could possibly have returned fire. And I have seen some fine shooting in my day, gentlemen. We cannot prove that Mr. Heyes has told us the exact truth about what actually happened, but it is certainly possible that he did."

"I could not sum it up better myself, Mr. Foreman," said the judge. "We will meet back in the court room at 1:30 PM this afternoon to resume the trial. That should give us all time for lunch. My thanks to all for your work on this unusual but very important demonstration."

As Heyes, Cole, and the marshals rode back into town in their wagon, Heyes looked out the tailgate down the road. Men from the crowd came riding behind him, many of them calling back and forth to friends as they went. They recognized the man in the black hat and waved at him. Heyes smiled and waved at the men. The locals, delighted by the attention from such a celebrity, waved their hats and whooped and rode by the wagon shouting raucous greetings like "Fancy shooting, Heyes!" They weren't jurors, so Heyes could afford to be friendly. One of the riding men came particularly close and smiled at Heyes and at Cole and waved, shouting "Good going, Heyes!" Heyes smiled and waved back to the blonde, bearded cowboy, who rode off with the raucous crowd. None of the marshals paid any more attention to the blonde rider than to any of the others. But Cole turned and looked at Heyes, his eyebrows raised in question. Heyes gave him a sly wink. So Cole knew that he had just met Kid Curry. He could see the bold move as stupid, but he had to admire the man's guts and style. Partners were partners, after all.


	50. Chapter 50

Heyes tried to keep his balance as he climbed out of the wagon and jumped down to the sidewalk outside the courthouse, but his chains threw him off. He fell heavily to his knees. The young blonde marshal helped the famous outlaw to his feet. "You alright, Heyes?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure, Harvey" said his charge, "Thanks." But Heyes felt bruised and tired as he trudged back to the meeting room for his lunch. It was dispiriting to be back in chains. And no matter how well he had done on the shooting range, it was what happened in the courtroom that really counted. Cole came along to give his client some fresh legal guidance.

"Well, Heyes, you sure destroyed his primary line of attack out there on the shooting range. 'Fast as a rattler' did the marshal say? He got that right! So you know what happens now?" asked Cole as he put down his sandwich.

Heyes, the master strategist, nodded without hesitation. "I'm guessing that he'll throw any stone he can find in my direction. He'll go for my character and my past and any other thing he can think of. Can't hardly blame him – there's plenty of good ammunition there. A notorious outlaw makes a damn big target."

Cole nodded with a dry little smile. His canny client was all too right. "That's the way I read it. It can be harder to defend against that kind of scattershot approach than against a more organized strategy. After the display you gave today with a gun, the last thing you want to confirm is that you're really dangerous. Don't let him get you angry! Just stay calm and rational while he rants up and down about how your word means nothing. If anyone gets upset, let it be him. If he says some stupid thing about you or your advisor or your fiancée . . ."

Heyes started to his feet, "No! I'm not gonna' stand by and let him attack Beth!"

"Heyes!" Cole shook his finger at his client, "You just gave a great demonstration of what he wants you to do and you know it! From what you've told me, your fiancée is a sensible woman. Surely she'd rather let some lawyer sound stupid cause he's attacking a woman than have you go to jail because you've proven that you're violent and untrustworthy! Though truthfully, I doubt that rising to the defense of a woman is going to cause you problems with that solid western jury."

"And to tell the truth on my side, what I'm more worried about is the next trial," said Heyes bitterly.

"Heyes!" fussed his lawyer, "That's the other big danger. Don't get distracted! One trial at a time, man!"

"Yes, sir!" said Heyes with a sheepish grin. "One trial at a time. Are you admitted to the bar in Wyoming, Cole?"

"Heyes!" Cole snapped at the former outlaw. As they got to know each other better Cole was almost forgetting that the other man was older and far more experienced than he was, not to mention white. "Yes, I am and I'm ready to defend you there, but I don't want you to even think about it right now! And right now, I see it's almost 1:30. Time to get back at it. Ready?"

"Ready, boss!" said Heyes brightly, echoing the words that other men had often said to him. But as the young lawyer and his infamous client walked down the hall among the crowds thronging into the courtroom, the defendant in his chains looked dejected and distracted.

The trial resumed with Horace, twitchier than ever, blowing his nose noisily and taking up his questioning again. He began, "I would like to recall the defendant to the stand, please."

As Heyes arrived at the stand, the judge said rather wearily, "The defendant will still regard himself as being under oath."

"Yes, of course, your honor," said Heyes respectfully.

"Mr. Heyes," said Horace, "would you say that you are in better or worse practice with a gun now than you were when you shot Mr. Gunther?"

Heyes answered, "Considering that today was the first time I've gotten to touch a gun, except just to put one in my pocket, in at least six weeks, I'd say I was in notably better practice then."

"I thought that Mr. Cole said you kept in excellent shooting practice even while in school, Mr. Heyes," said Horace eagerly. He obviously felt that he was being able to turn the defense against itself.

"I am presently accommodated in the Lewis and Clark County Jail," said Heyes testily, "where guns for inmates are strictly against the rules. Prior to that, before I was arrested I had just finished writing my Master's thesis, writing five final papers, and teaching two college classes as a substitute for my advisor. One of the classes that I taught was a graduate level class where some of the students were actually senior to me. It was a little challenging, to say the least. Time to go out to the shooting range has been a trifle shorter than usual during the last six weeks or so, sir," concluded the former outlaw crisply. His dry sarcasm fetched a few chuckles from the gallery and the jury and even the judge smiled before he caught himself.

"Would the prosecutor like to recall Charles Homer, the defendant's academic advisor, to the stand?" asked the judge.

"No, sir, that will not be necessary," said Horace, wiping his brow with a large handkerchief. "I have no reason to distrust the defendant's description of his academic situation." Cole's and Heyes' eyes met as they filed this sentence away for future use. "I would prefer to move on. On the first day of the trial, it was brought up that we should question the defendant about his and his partner's knowledge of the use of finger prints as criminal evidence. I will remind the jury that the conclusion that Mr. Gunther had begun to advance the next chamber in his pistol in order to fire a second time at Mr. Heyes was based upon the lack of fingerprints that were not those of the victim, on the victim's gun. If Mr. Heyes or Mr. Curry knew about the use of finger print evidence, they could conceivably have manipulated that evidence by wiping the weapon or placing the fingers of the deceased onto the gun's surface to make new prints. Mr. Heyes, at that time, were you or your partner familiar with the idea of using finger prints as a means of telling who has handled an object?"

"Yes. We both were," said Heyes flatly, remembering his lawyer's frequent advise to tell no more than he was asked. Let Horace pry out the details. The jurors, the judge, and Mr. Horace looked at Heyes with intense curiosity, since this approach to the solving of crimes had been entirely new to them only a single day before.

Cole spoke up, "However, we already proved that it would not have been possible to manipulate the fingerprint evidence to fake the advancement of the gun's chambers. Would the prosecutor like to read the transcript of the evidence?"

"No! That will not be necessary," said Horace, but he asked Heyes what they were all wondering, "Might I ask, Mr. Heyes, how and when you and your partner became familiar with this very new kind of criminal evidence? I understand that it has never previously been used in the United States – only in Europe."

Heyes stopped and bit his lip for a moment, thinking. "It was some years ago – I guess it was about eight years ago. Yes, about eight years ago. That is, it was maybe a year after the K – Mr. Curry and I had stopped our criminal activities. While we were waiting in a hotel to take a job I found and read a book by Mark Twain called _Life on the Mississippi_. In chapter 31, as I recall, it included a description of how every person has a unique set of markings on his or her thumb – in fact it's on all of the fingers. This played a key part in a plot recited within the story. Just after that I actually used that information to induce a lawyer who had gone bad to prove to us – to Mr. Curry and myself - the crime that he had committed. That crime was murdering one of his own clients. We got him to being anxious about having left his finger prints on the murder weapon. When he went to find the weapon where we had hidden it, the local sheriff – we had tipped him off – was going to arrest the murderer. In fact, the sheriff accidentally shot the lawyer to death. It was, by the way, one of a number of instances where Mr. Curry and I have been able to bring criminals to justice." The gallery gasped a couple of times during this answer and journalists could be heard taking rapid notes. This was an instance of where Cole had instructed Heyes to give as much information to the jury as he could – when it would reflect well upon him!

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Heyes," said the judge, "are you saying that you and Mr. Curry have turned in criminals to the law? Was that not extremely dangerous for you?"

"Yes, your honor, we did. And yes, it was," Heyes said. "It was real dangerous. But we figured we owed it to the country that we'd hurt when we were robbing. We've turned in a bunch of money that other folks stole, too. I've added it up – comes to more than a million. Somewhere about a million two hundred thirty-one thousand, two hundred and twelve dollars and some cents." This precise and enormous number caused a noisy sensation in the courtroom which the judge rather reluctantly quashed with his gavel.

"More than a million DOLLARS?" asked the judge, when he could be heard. "And how much money do you calculate, Mr. Heyes, that you stole during your criminal careers?"

"Objection!" shouted Horace furiously. "How is this relevant to this case, your honor? We are not trying Mr. Heyes for theft."

The judge responded calmly, "But we are trying him for a murder that he committed after having gone straight. To my mind knowing about his activities turning in criminals helps us to understand how he was conducting himself during that period and how he dealt with criminals – like those who had kidnapped his partner. Mr. Heyes, please answer the question."

Heyes slanted his head and appeared to calculate the number on the spot, although Beth knew well that he had figured it up long ago. "Well, I can't be held to account for what Mr. Curry got away with when he was with other gangs. But while we were with the Devil's Hole, I figure it came to about eight hundred and fifty-five thousand seven hundred or so."

"Or so," said the judge dryly. "That is a rather precise figure for a long criminal enterprise. And precisely less than what you say that you have turned in stolen by other people."

Heyes shrugged modestly. "Yes, your honor. I'm a rather precise guy. Was even before I went to Columbia. And yes, what we turned in comes to considerably more than we stole. It didn't come from the same people, of course, but yes, it was more."

"Your honor, we have all of this only on Mr. Heyes' word!" Horace shouted hotly. "Is there any evidence of any such Robin Hood goings on?"

"Actually, your honor, there is evidence of the activities of Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry on behalf of the law," said Cole. "I have not had much time to gather and support such evidence, and there is a great deal of it, but I have today received telegrams from several judges and sheriffs around the west who can confirm certain criminals brought to justice and amounts of stolen cash turned in. All of them agree precisely with what Mr. Heyes has told me that he and Mr. Curry did. Since they were always working in secret, often protected by their aliases, it is, of course, impossible to prove that these deeds were actually done by the defendant and his partner. But I am at a loss to know how he would have known about these proceedings, which were usually highly secret, if he were not involved in them."

The judge and Horace and the jury pored over the documents, which they approved and introduced into evidence. The judge granted a brief intermission in the trial for them to read the documents. But, as Cole had said, in most cases there was no way to prove that Heyes and Curry had turned in the assorted murders, bank presidents and other thieves listed. However, in more than one case, the descriptions of the men involved matched those of Heyes and Curry. And in one case, Judge Hanley was able to state with certainty that it was Heyes and Curry who had captured four murderers and then helped him to arrest a dishonest sheriff and regain the stolen money that the sheriff had taken for his own. The judge seemed to take special interest in that case, perhaps because it came the closest to being provable. In the end, the judge said that the jury should only take this as supporting evidence for Heyes' general character and activities rather than trusting the unsupported particulars.

"Again, your honor," said Horace as the trial resumed, "we are stuck taking Mr. Heyes' word for something vital. He is well known for his ability as a liar. He is said to be able to convince nearly anyone of nearly anything."

"Objection! Hearsay!" cried Cole.

The judge denied the objection, saying "This reputation is too wide-spread to be denied. Mr. Horace is not quoting a particular instance of hearsay, but a widely known reputation. Objection denied."

Horace went on, "I do not want our jury to be among the people to whom Mr. Heyes has lied and gotten away with it. He is a known associate of such notorious confidence artists as Mr. Silky O'Sullivan and Mr. James Duffy. Here are transcripts from a trial of a third party, for instance, in which Mr. O'Sullivan was cited as being associated with Mr. Heyes in particular. Do you deny, Mr. Heyes, that you have been associated with these and other confidence artists and even participated with them in deceiving people for gain?"

"No, sir, I do not," said Heyes steadily. "It was a long . . ."

Horace cut him off, "Do you deny that you still know and at times associate with such men?" The prosecutor was gaining in confidence as he finally felt that he was backing Heyes against a wall.

"No, sir, I do not," Heyes said gravely. He, too, realized that Horace was at last landing blows that might really hurt him with the jury. He desperately hoped that no evidence would be introduced about the money supporting his studies that came from some of these very men. He had promised his supporters not to put them in any peril due to this financing!

Horace battered on, "And even now, Mr. Hannibal Heyes, as you have gone forward with your illustrious academic career, you have continued to deceive those around you. You were heard at your arrest to apologize to your friends for, and I quote the marshals' transcript, 'the lies.' Is that not true?"

"Yes, sir, it is," Heyes answered steadily, flushing a little as he spoke. Lying now on the stand would not exactly help him, but telling the truth hurt him very badly.

"In fact," continued Horace, "there are two men here in this courtroom and remaining under oath who are among those whom you have badly deceived, Mr. Heyes. They have stated that they are your friends and yet it stands to reason that you have repeated lied to them. I would like now to call to the stand Mr. Joachim Gelbfisch, otherwise known as James Smith."

The judge looked at Heyes with what the former criminal thought was regret and said, "Mr. Heyes, you are dismissed until recalled. You remain under oath."

Heyes nodded and walked back to the defendant's table and sat down, trying to keep his chains quiet. He looked stricken.

Jim Smith nervously climbed into the witness box. "You recall that you are still under oath, Mr. Gelbfisch?" said the judge.

"Yes, your honor," said Jim just above a whisper. He could not hide that he dreaded the questions to come. He did not want to hurt Heyes, but he also could not be thrown into jail for perjury. He had the remains of his family to help to support, not to mention himself.

"Mr. Gelbfisch," said Horace, "What name did Mr. Heyes give when you first met him?"

"He d-didn't give a name, sir. He couldn't," said Jim softly so that the jury members all leaned forward to hear him. They were all mightily perplexed about why the silver-tongued Heyes had been unable to speak.

"Please explain the situation to the jury that made it impossible for Mr. Heyes to speak," said Horace. He knew the history himself as part of the evidence shared between defense and prosecution, but the jury had heard nothing of Heyes' injury before this. Whether Horace felt some sympathy for Heyes or whether he just didn't want to come across as cold and unfeeling, Horace used a softer and less accusatory tone than he had before.

Jim labored to speak with as little stuttering as possible and surprised himself with how successful he was. He didn't want his own handicap to make his evidence less believable. "I work in a c-clinic for aphasia – the Leutze Clinic for Aphasia p-patients. Aphasia is what they call it when someone's had a stroke or been hurt in the head so they c-can't talk or maybe understand or read or write. Mr. Heyes was shot in the head." This caused a noisy outburst from the jury and the gallery that the judge allowed to go on for a minute before he hammered with his gavel. He could understand that people would be shocked by this news.

Jim went on when it was quiet enough for him to do so. "He showed me the scar. He couldn't t-talk at all, or write. He could read and understand by then, but not at first from what Dr. Leutze t-told me. So I was introduced t-to him as Joshua Smith, but that's just what Dr. Leutze said. Heyes – Mr. Heyes - he couldn't say a word."

Horace turned to Heyes and asked, "Mr. Heyes, if you do not object, could you please show us the scar to which Mr. Gelbfisch refers?"

Heyes nodded and silently pushed the long hair back from his left temple. The jurors leaned forward to gape at the still ugly dark diagonal scar.

"So now we know the nature of Mr. Heyes' handicap to which I referred earlier," said Horace. "The jury will no doubt have noticed some occasional hesitations in Mr. Heyes' speech."

"Mr. Gelbfisch," asked the prosecutor, "when and how did you first find out who Mr. Heyes really was?"

Heyes' jaw tightened and he fought to keep his face as impassive as he could as Jim answered. What was coming, for him, was easily the worst moment of the trial so far. He was terrified that Jim's evidence would lead directly to the story of how the Kid had killed the Teasdale brothers. This was what Heyes had meant when he had said to Cole that if he said the wrong thing it could send the Kid to the gallows. But that it would be Jim's testimony that might do it was even worse! If the Kid died at the end of a rope, Jim Smith would never forgive himself. Nor would Heyes.

Jim's voice dropped almost to silence. He knew exactly what Heyes and the Kid feared and while he saw it coming, he knew that there was little or nothing he could do to keep their fears from coming true. "I . . . I went out West t-to where Mr. Curry lives to surprise Mr. Heyes when he was visiting there at Christmas. While I was there, a pair of rough guys t-tried to shoot up the saloon where they were and to kill folks. Mr. Heyes and Mr. C-Curry stopped them. But the guys – they knew who Heyes and Curry were and they said their names out loud. And I heard it where I had hidden behind the bar."

"And where was that saloon?" asked Horace smoothly, his nervousness evaporating.

"Objection!" said Cole. "This story has no further relevance to this case."

"Sustained!" said the judge firmly. "Mr. Horace, you will discontinue this line of questioning unless it is directly relevant."

"Mr. Gelbfisch, did Mr. Heyes try to deny the name that you heard put on him?" asked Horace, nervously wiping his brow again as the objection had rattled him.

"No, sir. He said he was sorry for all they'd done," said Jim stoutly. He felt like he had dodged a bullet, but wondered how many more legal missiles might be flying in his direction. Heyes, similarly, was relieved but continued to be extremely wary.

"That concludes my questions for this witness," said Horace. Jim breathed a sigh of relief that he could not hide.

Cole asked Jim, "Mr. Smith, was Mr. Heyes honest with you about his past and his present, after that?"

"Yes, sir," said Jim. "He answered all my questions - and I had plenty. I used to read about him and Mr. Curry in books. He was my hero. And he still is – now that I know the truth." Heyes looked down at the desk to hide his smile. Amid his worries, it was great to hear some unqualified support. He winked at Jim as his friend returned to his seat. Jim was too scared to wink back.

Then Horace called Charles Homer to the stand. Charlie had dressed in his best suit and gotten a haircut and shaved carefully. He wanted to look as unadventurous and professorial as he could.

"Dr. Homer, how did you meet Mr. Heyes?" asked Horace.

Charlie answered, "His tutor at the Leutze Clinic used to take college classes with me. She told me that she had an extraordinary student – a patient there - whom she thought would do very well in college as a mathematics major. She brought him to meet me over the summer and asked if he might sit in with one of my classes. That is, just attend, you know, and observe, and not get college credit for the class."

"Did Mr. Heyes introduce himself to you by name?" asked Horace, hoping that this time he would catch Heyes in a bold-faced lied.

Horace was disappointed again. "No, sir. Mr. Heyes was still struggling to talk at that point. His tutor introduced him to me as Joshua Smith. As a matter of fact, I had first heard of him before he came to New York, when Dr. Leutze sent me a telegram with a complex mathematical formula that Mr. Smith, as he called him then, had worked out. It was perfectly correct, by the way, despite Heyes' lack of education at that time."

"And who was Heyes' tutor at the Leutze clinic?" aske Horace

Charlie said, "Her name is Elizabeth Warren."

Horace looked challengingly at the professor, "And is she present in this courtroom?"

"She is," said Professor Homer. There was a stir as people looked around the courtroom. Many had noticed a woman with Homer and Jim Smith before – now they knew who she was.

Horace asked,"And does she have a further relationship to the defendant than merely his tutor, since she came all this way to his trial?"

Homer nodded. "Yes, sir. They are engaged to be married." That caused a prolonged outburst of talk in court, especially from the many ladies present. Beth looked down and blushed hard where she sat. She knew now that she would have to take the stand.

"Before I finish my questions, Dr. Homer, did Mr. Heyes ever deceive you about his background as you worked with him as professor and advisor?"

"He answered all of my questions as honestly as he reasonably could. I didn't ask if he had been an outlaw."

"You never had cause to ask if he had been an outlaw?"

Homer fumbled, "I mean at school, as his professor and advisor I never asked him. When Mr. Curry asked me to help his partner when he was sick and hurt and it was pretty clear that something was going on, he told me he was an outlaw before I could ask him."

"When he was hurt and sick? When was that and how did it happen?" asked Horace, cringing in anticipation of the cry of objection.

As expected, Cole did object. "This is another time, another story, that has no bearing on this case!"said Cole. "It suffices to know that Mr. Heyes willingly told Dr. Homer that he was an outlaw."

"Sustained," said the judge again.

"But Heyes told his advisor who he was only," said Horace, "after it was, to quote him, 'pretty clear that that something was going on.' He did not give that information before he had to!"

"Of course!" said the judge. "The man's not stupid! It is only human for someone who is widely known to be wanted dead or alive with a large award offered not to volunteer to strangers who he is and thus that they are free to kill him! There is no law against trying to stay alive! And so long as he is not in a court of law or creating a contract, there is no law against using an alias."

Then Beth Warren was called to the stand. She was quiet and dignified, but she trembled as she stepped up and swore her oath.

"Miss Warren, did Mr. Heyes introduce himself to you by his right name?" asked Horace, once again.

Beth answered quietly, "No, sir. Dr. Leutze introduced him to me as Mr. Joshua Smith. Mr. Heyes was utterly unable to speak at that time, or even to write."

Horace pressed on, "And did he hide his past as you got to know him?"

Beth spoke quietly but steadily, "No, he was as forthcoming as he could be. He told me where he was from and what states and territories he had been in – just by pointing on a map before he could talk. And once he could talk, he told me more and more."

Horace urged, "And when and how did you learn his true identity?"

Beth answered more forcefully, "He told me himself. First, when we could see that we were falling in love, he told me that I should not be with him. He said that it was dangerous, and that he was a wanted man. And then, when I insisted on learning more, he told me his name."

"And you decided that it was fine that you would be romantically involved with a notorious wanted criminal?" asked Horace disdainfully.

"No," Beth fought back tears, "When he told me, I left him. But later when he was, as Dr. Homer said, sick and hurt, I went back to him. I realized that leaving Mr. Heyes had been the worst mistake of my life."

Horace's voice grew softer, "And you will marry him, even knowing who he is?"

Beth look up with her eyes ablaze and her voice full of conviction, "Yes, sir. Especially because I know who he really is. I know that now he is a good and honest man who has worked very, very hard for many years so that he can use his extraordinary gifts to help his country!" The judge had to silence the enthusiastic applause that came from the gallery. Heyes bit his lip as he looked down and tried not to smile. It was wonderful to hear Beth's support, and to hear the public approval of it. He only wished that her identity had never had to be revealed.

Horace dismissed Beth and said, "Your honor, it seems that every time we attempt to discover the source of Mr. Heyes' use of an alias in New York, we come back to Dr. Leutze of the Leutze clinic. According to our witnesses, he was the one who established Hannibal Heyes in New York as Joshua Smith the patient and student. If we could only speak to him, we might discover how much Mr. Heyes himself lied in order to create this identity."

"I agree, Mr. Horace," said the judge. "And I have here a telegram informing me that Dr. Leutze is on his way to testify. We will adjourn until he is due to arrive by train tomorrow afternoon." Heyes looked up at the judge in open agony on hearing this. The very last thing he wanted was for his doctor, mentor, and friend to be put in the position to possibly be arrested and jailed for aiding and abetting a criminal avoiding arrest. In addition to the harm this would do to Dr. Leutze himself, it would devastate many, many sufferers of aphasia all over the United States. That was a group of people with whom Heyes had the greatest of sympathy. The defendant stumbled numbly and looked white as a sheet as his company of marshals accompanied him back to his cell across the street. Heyes paid no attention to the reporters and photographers who dogged his steps. He returned to his bare cell in the Lewis and Clark County jail where the cell next to his stood empty.


	51. Chapter 51

Heyes sat in his cell, leaning against the bars as he read a mathematics journal that Charlie Homer had sent him. In fact, Heyes' own article would appear in this same journal in June – if he was either very lucky or they didn't mind publishing the words of a convicted felon. Heyes stopped reading and rubbed his eyes. The light wasn't good and he was tired, despite having been unable to get out of his cell that day. He had been pacing and reading and scribbling equations for hours, killing time as he waited for court to reconvene. Finally, he heard the footsteps of marshals coming down the hall. He threw down the journal and cursed. "No damn use, anyway," he muttered. He had just been reading something new to him that now he might never come to understand – or have the opportunity to use.

Heyes sighed heavily as he got to his feet and waited to be unchained from the bars and for his cell door to be opened. "Well, Heyes, I'm guessing this is it," said the blonde marshal.

"I'm guessing you're right, Harvey," said Heyes and tried to smile. "Could you please hold my chain back so I can straighten my tie without strangling myself and getting jail grease all over my shirt? Got to look decent for court."

"Sure, Heyes," said Harvey Litchfield the young marshal. "We're gonna' miss you around here, you know."

"Do you mind if I don't say I'll miss you guys – at least until I know if I'm going someplace better or someplace worse?" asked Heyes as they walked down the hall together.

"Not at all, Heyes," said Harvey. "I understand. I hope . . ." But his eyes went to the steely gaze of his fellow marshal and he didn't dare to say what he hoped.

One more time, Heyes and his marshals and his lawyer made their way down the jailhouse steps and across the street and up the courthouse steps through a crowd of decriers and supporters and press. There were fewer of them today because it was grey and dripping with rain, but it was still quite a crowd. The stout old lady in black who prophesied doom and damnation was still there bellowing away, as was the guy with the sign of support from denizens of Wyoming. The sign was getting kind of battered and today the hand drawn letters were starting to run in the rain, but the guy yelled as Heyes and his chains clattered up the courthouse steps "We love you, Heyes!"

"Thanks, man!" yelled Heyes back, responding to his public for the first time. With his attention divided and his chains tangling, the defendant slipped on the steps and fell to his knees for the second time in two days. Harvey the marshal helped him up again. "And thanks Harvey," murmured Heyes to the one lawman who seemed to be most in his corner. "I hope I don't slip up in there."

Soon Cole joined Heyes in a meeting room for a last consultation before what looked like being the conclusion of the trial. Heyes stood looking at his lawyer in desperate appeal. "Cole, is there anything you can do to protect Dr. Leutze? He just can't get arrested!"

Cole held up his hand. "Hold on there, Heyes. Don't worry! I've talked to the judge about it. So long as they didn't actively help you to avoid arrest or to commit a crime, none of your friends will be liable to aiding and abetting charges. As long as all they did was not to turn you in, they're safe."

"Thank God! And thank you!" breathed Heyes. "That's the best news I've heard in I don't know when! Seems like every jurisdiction and every judge interprets that one differently. I've sure heard tell of courts where they'd all go down for me. And don't tell me – I know there are more here than I've seen in court. We've got to avoid calling them as character witnesses if we can. At the least, it could hurt their careers." But Heyes was thinking that there was one person who would be in definite danger. This was a person he had not seen in court or heard of being in town – one person who had actively helped Heyes and the Kid to avoid a posse that had included a sheriff. That was Cat Christy. If she showed up in court today, she would be arrested nearly as readily as the Kid himself.

"But I've got to ask you," said Heyes, looking Cole in the eye, "What about Wyoming? I know, I know – I'm not supposed to be thinking about Wyoming. But anyone who speaks for me here could get hauled off to Wyoming if they rule differently."

"So far as I understand, Heyes, it would be the same there," said Cole. "But you know individual judges . . ."

"Not as well as you do, Cole, but I know what you mean. So we hope and we pray," said Heyes anxiously.

Cole nodded. "Yeah, that's about all we can do until we get there. Concentrate on the here and now. You may feel like you've got it wrapped up, but don't get cocky, Heyes!" said Cole. "There are still a lot of hurdles to get over before this one's done. Do you know what Dr. Leutze will say on the stand?"

"I've got a pretty good idea," said Heyes with a grin that almost more of a grimace. "He'll tell the truth – - I just hope he doesn't tell too much of it. Our acquaintance started with something that I'd rather the court didn't hear about. Nothing illegal but. . . And I sure hope you're right about the judge."

"Heyes?" Cole needed to know every detail.

Heyes told the story. "The day after we'd played poker the first time at Christy's Place, Leutze was watching me so closely and so obviously that it made the Kid and me nervous. Frankly, we were worried he might be a bounty hunter. We got Leutze alone in a back alley and the Kid pulled his gun on him. That's when we found out who he was. I don't suppose anyone would arrest us over it, but it doesn't make us look like the world's safest characters."

Cole looked a little alarmed, "I agree. I just hope that little detail doesn't come up. There goes the call – back we go, Heyes!"

Heyes and his marshals and his lawyer went down the teeming hallway filled with the press, the law, and the public into the courtroom one more time. There they heard the clerk call "All rise!" as the judge entered. Then they all sat down and things got started.

Horace stood and called Dr. Samuel Leutze to the stand. Leutze strode purposefully from the back of the courtroom. He looked rumpled as Heyes had never seen his dapper doctor. Heyes could only guess that Leutze must have just gotten off the train and had little time to pull himself together for court. But the medical man gave Heyes a smile as he came forward. He looked keen and ready.

Once Leutze was sworn in, Horace asked, "Dr. Leutze, how, where, and when did you meet Hannibal Heyes?"

Leutze spoke calmly, seeming unfazed by the tense atmosphere of the courtroom with its jam-packed gallery and plethora of reporters. "I met him at a poker table in a saloon in a little town in Colorado, in October 1885. I was returning from a medical conference in San Francisco to my clinic in New York City when I received a telegram telling me that there was a man in Colorado who desperately needed my help. I was told that his name was Joshua Smith."

"Who told you that?" asked Horace. He didn't dare to pursue the actual name of the town where the meeting had taken place – he assumed that he would be hit with an objection. But revealing the state where the encounter had taken place was something to help the law for whom Horace worked.

Leutze hesitated for a moment to make sure that he had the names right, "Well, the original telegram was from a Dr. Grauer, who had treated the patient. So he was the first man to identity Smith – that is Heyes – to me in writing. Then, when I sat down at the poker table, I guess it was a guy named – um – Gordon Cable it was – a local miner – who introduced me to Smith."

Horace probed, "How long was it before you found out that the so-called Joshua Smith was really Hannibal Heyes?"

Leutze paused thoughtfully, "It was about three weeks after I had met him, or maybe a day or two longer."

"Could you please tell us about in detail, Doctor? How and where you met Mr. Heyes and what happened until you found out who he was?" asked Horace.

"Certainly. As I said, I was called in to help him to regain his speech and writing after he had been shot in the head," Leutze began. He glanced at the jury and saw that the twelve men were hanging on his every word, but it didn't rattle him in the least.

"Were you told how it was that he came to be shot?" asked Mr. Horace, interrupting his witness.

"No. I didn't ask the circumstances under which it had happened. As a doctor, I was concerned only with the medical facts of the wound, of course," Leutze sounded a little surprised that anyone would think a doctor might be concerned with anything else. Heyes began to worry in earnest – his doctor friend was distressingly naïve about the possible legal consequences of his words, it seemed. If he slipped and mentioned that it had happened when Heyes was fleeing a posse, things could suddenly turn bad.

"Please go on, Dr. Leutze," prodded Mr. Horace.

"As I said, I met Mr. Heyes at a poker table. I wanted to observe his behavior before I told him that I was a doctor who might be able to help him. I was most impressed by his use of gestures and signs to communicate. In a period of only weeks, he had worked out a very sophisticated system. He could play a superb and perfectly intelligible game of poker without saying a word. He was on real winning streak that first night," Leutze smiled and shook his head at the memory. Heyes sweated as Leutze spoke, praying that the incident of the Kid's drawing a gun on the good doctor would not come up. It had seemed so ordinary to him at the time, but now he could see how sinister it would seem to any outsider.

"Did you see Mr. Heyes employing any . . . um . . . special means in his success?" asked Horace, leadingly.

Leutze looked shocked. "What do you . . . Do you mean was he cheating? Of course not! He had no need to. Mr. Heyes is a brilliant mathematician! Winning at cards isn't easy for anyone and requires concentration, study of your opponents, and, of course, luck. But for someone with Mr. Heyes' grasp of probability and his ability to work sums in his head to figure up the shifting odds, and his ability to remember the movement of cards . . . Well, even before he went to college, winning against normal level opponents was comparative child's play for him. I didn't know about his level of mathematical genius at the time, but it was evident to me immediately that he had extraordinary abilities."

"Oh great!" thought Heyes silently to himself, "Even if I don't go to jail I'll never be able to sit down at a poker table again!"Heyes wondered how the Kid, sitting far behind him in the gallery, was getting through all of this. The state where he and Cat were living had been revealed to all. The law knew already, of course, but now the public would know as well. So Heyes felt for the Kid. He did not, of course, ever dare to turn around and look behind him to find out how his partner was reacting. Everyone in court, including the jury, was watching Heyes' every move much of the time, even when someone else was on the stand.

"Go on with how you found out who Mr. Heyes was, please," said Horace, continuing his search for what he assumed must be Heyes' pattern of lies.

"Well, I worked with him in Colorado for a few days, very intensely. This kind of therapy requires very intense mental labor and Mr. Heyes proved to be excellent at it. We were able to restore two words to his working vocabulary. That's very fast work for a patient so badly stricken – very fast, indeed. But then I had to return to my practice in New York where many patients were waiting for me. I asked Mr. Heyes – or Joshua Smith as I knew him then – if he would return with me to New York so he could be treated at my clinic. He was distinctly uneasy at the prospect, but he agreed. We took the train to New York together.

Then we worked together at my clinic in Manhattan. But at first it was no use. The rapid progress we had made out west stopped. In fact, he made no progress at all and even lost to the ability to use the words he had learned out west. It was clear that something was bothering him very badly. He wasn't sleeping and the exhausting mental labor that my mode of treatment requires was simply impossible for him. I was very worried and so was Mr. Smith – I mean Mr. Heyes. As I say, it could not have been clearer that something was bothering him."

"Could it have been guilt?" asked Horace.

"That, it turned out, was exactly what it was," said Leutze with a nod. There was a flurry of excitement in the courtroom. "Being unable to speak or write, he was unable to communicate his identity to us or to let us know the level of risk that his presence might pose to the clinic. Mr. Heyes could not cope with the guilt he was experiencing. I could not understand what it was that was placing such terrible pressure on my patient. But I saw that if something was not resolved soon, his treatment or even his life might be in danger."

The courtroom, except for quiet words of Samuel Leutze and the unceasingly scribbling of court clerks and reporters, was utterly silent. Everyone was raptly listening to this story that told them of a Hannibal Heyes utterly new to almost everyone there, even after all the testimony they had previously heard. As Heyes had endured his greatest torment, only he himself had understood what had nearly destroyed him. As Leutze had said, it had been guilt - the same emotion that had dogged him tirelessly for thirty years.

Leutze stopped to take a sip of water and then went on, "But an amazing thing happened that will tell you a great deal about the character of Mr. Heyes. A patient of ours at the clinic, who is totally unable to speak a word even to this day, was wrongly arrested over a misunderstanding caused by his disability. When the police came to get him and take him to the police station, I of course accompanied my patient to insure that the misunderstanding was straightened out. But Mr. Heyes insisted on also going along. He and the wrongly charged man had become friends somehow, with not a word able to be spoken between them. Heyes was adamant that he would accompany his friend to the police station. He did this despite the fact that he would, as I did not then understand, be placing himself in the most acute danger. He insisted upon providing moral support for his innocent but terrified friend.

We got to the police station and Mr. Heyes provided vital moral support for his friend until the man was locked up. After that, Mr. Heyes, being unable to speak or write a word, was left on his own for some time while the police and I took care of the paperwork. Before we left the station, Mr. Heyes found me and took me to a room that he had found where they had wanted posters from all over the country. This included prominently displayed posters for himself and Mr. Curry. Mr. Heyes stood in front of his own poster and pointed at it, insisting that I read it. The resemblance between the description and the man before me was undeniable. And, of course, the same was true of Mr. Curry, whom I had come to know fairly well. Mr. Heyes held out his hands as if he was in handcuffs – as he is now." Leutze stopped and looked Heyes in the eye.

"Therefore, without speaking a word, Mr. Heyes was able to tell me who he was and to enable me to turn him in to the law then and there. He knew that his presence at the clinic could put us in danger and he insisted that I know that. Only in knowing that, could I decide whether or not I wished to take the risk of keeping Mr. Heyes among us."

Leutze paused again to take a drink, leaving every other person in the courtroom hanging for a long, tense moment. Then Leutze went on, "And I refused to turn him in. I know that I may be arrested for it, but having seen the bravery and faith with which he had supported his innocent friend, and remembering my oath to only help my patients, I simply could not do it. I took Mr. Heyes back to the clinic and assured him that he would be safe with us. And so he was.

After that, knowing that he had communicated the truth to me, Mr. Heyes was able to make the extraordinary progress that you can see today. With the most devoted hard work every single day, he regained his speech and his ability to write. Mr. Heyes is, without a doubt, the most successful patient we have ever treated who had been stricken so badly by aphasia. For him now to be able to not only study but even teach at the college level – at least, should he not be imprisoned – is utterly incredible. It is the greatest tribute to his hard work and honor. And he is, I assure you, as brilliant a teacher as he is a mathematician.

I recall at the clinic quoting a Bible verse that addresses Mr. Heyes' situation perfectly – the truth shall set you free. He could not live a lie any longer – not if it put his friends in danger. If ever an outlaw could be said to have turned to the side of good, it is Mr. Heyes – and, of course, his partner. That is only my opinion, I realize. But as someone who has worked with the man for over five years, that is what I believe."

The judge did not for some time even attempt to quiet the loud cheers and general cacophony that erupted from the gallery. The effort would have been in vain. Dr. Leutze looked up to see Beth dabbing at her eyes.

Finally, the judge took pity on Mr. Horace and gaveled for quiet. The prosecutor said in a low, strangled voice, "No further questions for this witness."

Cole, trying with little success not to smile, said, "I have no questions for this witness."

If the jury believed Dr. Leutze, Horace's case was finished. But the state prosecutor had his job to do and he strove to do it to the best of his ability. He would carry it to the end. And there was only one end remaining, unlikely as it seemed to him that his final question could be answered.

Horace stood and declaimed, "The end of all of these questions, your honor and gentlemen of the jury, has been to determine the truthfulness of Mr. Heyes' testimony. He has evidently been as truthful as possible with his recent acquaintances. There is one other way, however, of verifying what we have heard about the shooting in question. One other living person saw that event. That was Jedediah "Kid" Curry. While he is the partner of the accused, and Mr. Heyes acted to free him, were he to testify, he would be legally bound to tell the truth. According to what Dr. Leutze has told us, and according to what I have heard by telegraph from a sheriff with whom Mr. Curry has worked closely for some years, the man would be most unlikely to lie even to protect himself. Therefore I ask – is Jedediah Curry is this courtroom?"

There was a long, tense silence. The jurors and the crowd all looked around in search of a man fitting the description of Kid Curry. Heyes looked straight at the judge, whom he could see was studying the gallery behind Heyes.

Finally, a blonde bearded figure in the back of the court stood up and said in a flat voice, "Yes, sir. I am Jedediah Curry. Since you ask it, I will testify." There had been many disturbances during the trial, but this one was the loudest and longest and the most sensational. Every head turned and every mouth exclaimed as Kid Curry, dressed in his best old grey suit, held out his hands and allowed himself to be handcuffed by marshals and led to the front of the court. The marshals patted down the Kid, but found no weapons on him.

Heyes shook his head at his partner. Beth was openly in tears. Cole was stunned. Charlie was trying in vain to comfort Jim. But Heyes, under cover of the commotion, whispered to his lawyer, "You remember the dirty sheriff that Heyes and I got thrown into prison – Clitterhouse? He's in the back of the courtroom in handcuffs with two marshals. He must have identified the Kid for the law and the Kid knows it. That beard wouldn't hide him for a minute with someone who really knows him. But the law knew where he was in Colorado, anyhow. If they wanted him, they had him. Thing is, they've had him and me both these five years. They decided to bring in Clitterhouse and finger the Kid only now. Why now?"

Cole shrugged. It was politics and Heyes and Cole both knew it. The only question was what kind of politics and had the politics finally resolved into amnesty or not. But Cole was worried. For the first time since the trial began, he sweated and wiped his brow in agitation. He had made no plans for this testimony and he had no idea of what it might do to the fate of his client, his client's partner, and their two fiancées. He did not know Jed Curry or exactly what he might say. There must be many things in the blonde gunman's head that would get him into desperate trouble if he said them aloud in court.

The judge looked steadily at the Kid. "Mr. Curry, will you please state your full name for the court."

The Kid said, "Jedediah Curry."

The court clerk swore in Curry, who looked as solemn and upright as he had ever been in his life.

Horace went forward and confronted the notorious gunman with no show of fear. "Mr. Curry, were you in court to hear Mr. Heyes' testimony about how he shot Mr. Gunther?"

"I was," said the Kid steadily.

Horace tried to smile ingratiatingly, thought he knew that the Kid would never trust him. "Then you know his version of events. But we want your own version of what happened, as uninfluenced by Mr. Heyes' testimony as possible. Could you please tell us in your own words what happened that day, starting with the moment when you first realized that Mr. Heyes was outside the shed where you were held captive?"

The Kid nodded. He always said that he wasn't much of a talker, but he could tell a story when he wanted to and now was his moment. "I'd been tied up there in that muddy shed for several days. They fed me OK, but it was no fun and I was wondering when they were going to turn me into the law or kill me. And I knew they'd do the same to my partner, if they could get him. I had just come back from . . . um . . . relieving myself outside and Mr. Bentley had just left me and told me to be quiet when I heard the knocks at the door of the shed that was the signal between Mr. Heyes and myself that Mr. Heyes was there by himself. I gave my signal of knocks on the shed wall that I was alone, so's Heyes'd know it was safe for him to get me out."

The Kid paused and cleared his throat. He looked at Heyes for a moment, hoping that he wasn't saying too much or too little. Heyes just looked him in the eye and tensely licked his lips. He didn't dare even to nod. He didn't want to come across as manipulating the witness in any way.

Curry went on, "Then I heard scraping at the locks of the shed. I knew that my partner was picking the locks. He was quick at it, as usual. He's a d . . . he's very good at picking locks. When he opened the door, I could see it was coming on to storm outside. It was dark and the wind was blowing and it was commencing to rain. It was real dark and hard to see, but I'd know Heyes anywhere. Heyes . . . Mr. Heyes saw me and crawled toward him as well as I could. He came right in the door quick and took the rag out of my mouth. But I saw Sean – Mr. Gunther come up to the doorway behind Heyes – Mr. Heyes. He – Gunther, that is - drew his gun. I opened my mouth to tell Heyes he was there, but Heyes saw what was going on from the look on my face as he said. He turned around lightning fast, just like he showed out there on the shooting range. Gunther, like I said, he'd drawn his gun. And I heard him cock it, but he just stood there for a second, not firing. Seems to me that he wasn't sure who it was there – might have been Bentley. He looked kind'a like Heyes – from the back, anyhow – long brown hair and black hat, you know. Could only see that nasty scar of his on his neck from the front. He was taller than Heyes, but when he was bent over it would be hard to tell that.

Anyhow, Gunther was kind'a hung up there for a moment, unsure in the dark you know. But when Heyes spun around so fast, Gunther looked scared as h . . . looked real scared and he pulled the trigger. Bullet almost hit Heyes and got even closer to me, but it missed us clean. I guess Gunther was scared, figuring who it was he had there, and it spoiled his aim. Just barely after Gunther fired, Heyes let off his gun and shot the back out of Gunther's skull. There was blood all over, but the rain kept washing it away. Heyes was right cut up about it, I think. He'd never killed nobody before and been real careful not to. But he didn't say nothin' but to ask after me and then tell me that Gunther was dead for sure. Then Bentley came up behind Heyes in that shed door while he was untying me. Caught him flat footed. Was raining so hard by then that it's no wonder Heyes didn't hear the man coming and I was looking at Heyes, so I didn't see him. Thank God Mr. Wiseman came along when he did with his rifle to get us out of it! But you got all that in that first trial on that conspiracy."

"Yes, Mr. Curry, so we did," said Horace. "So you are absolutely certain that Mr. Heyes did not fire at Mr. Gunther until after Mr. Gunther had fired at him?"

The Kid darted a glance of his blue eyes at the judge and then at Horace. "Yes, sir, dead certain of that."

"Your witness, Mr. Cole," said Horace wearily.

"I have only one question, Mr. Curry," said Cole. "Why are you here, in this courtroom? You could presumably be hundreds of miles away and in safety now, rather than here where you will surely be arrested for armed robbery as you step off the stand. Why?"

Curry stood up very straight and looked at the judge as he spoke, "Do you think, sir, that I would do less for my own partner than he'd done for that poor man from the Leutze clinic when he got arrested? I wouldn't leave Heyes to stand here by himself. He wouldn't be on trial at all if not for me. He was up here in Montana to save me. I'd gotten myself in trouble up here when he told me not to go, but he still came to help me out. And besides, the law knows where I live. They'd just have to come to get me if they wanted me. I wouldn't have run away or shot my way out, not anymore, and they know it. We've gone straight, Heyes and me. And straight means straight."

The judge stood and looked into Jed Curry's eyes, "Mr. Curry, I would like to thank you for coming here today, and throughout the trial, to see justice done. I cannot know what will happen to you from here, but this court owes you thanks."

"You're welcome, your honor," said Curry. "I just did what I thought was right."

The courtroom again erupted in applause, but long before silence fell, Curry stepped from the stand. And, as the judge and Cole had predicted, four marshals sprang up to surround him. The lead marshal said, "Jedediah Curry, you are under arrest for armed robbery in the then territory, now state, of Wyoming. When this trial is concluded, you will be transported there for trial."

The Kid, already in handcuffs, nodded at the marshals. He looked over at his partner, who looked sorrowfully back at him and threw him a crisp military-style salute. He had to do this carefully to avoid hurting himself with his chains, but he had to express his respect and thanks somehow.

The prosecutor now concluded his case, his dull voice making it plain that he anticipated a loss. And yet it seemed to Heyes that the man would have been far sorrier to have won. Heyes was not sure, but he thought he might well have won another convert there.

"Gentlemen of the jury," said Horace, "the case comes down to one question. Did Hannibal Heyes fire at Sean Gunther, III, in pure self-defense, or for any other cause? If he fired in anger to kill the man who had taken his devoted partner hostage rather than to save his own life, then you must find Mr. Heyes guilty of second degree murder. You have heard the evidence. You must decide not on the character of the defendant or the character of his partner and certainly not on the character of any of the witnesses. You must decide upon the facts. That concludes my case, your honor."

"Thank you, Mr. Horace," said the judge. "Mr. Cole?"

"Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the testimony of the defendant and of his partner and of the sheriff who found the body of Mr. Gunther when he went to arrest Mr. Bentley. If Mr. Heyes fired in self-defense, then he is innocent of second-degree murder. If you have any reasonable doubt as to whether Mr. Heyes fired in self-defense, then you must find him innocent. It is impossible to be certain of the exact split-second timing of events that we did not, ourselves, witness. However, from the testimony we have heard, it must be clear that Mr. Heyes had every reason to fear for his life and for the life of his partner. He knew with nearly perfect certainty that an armed man was behind him and that he was not a friend. Therefore, Mr. Heyes pulled his own gun and spun around. But if we are to believe what we have heard, even so, Mr. Heyes did not fire his weapon until he was completely certain that his own life was in immediate danger. The man with the gun behind him could have merely held the gun on his and tied him up like his partner – in that case, we may speculate, Mr. Heyes would not have fired. He might easily have died for that decision, but he held his fire until he could be certain that he and his partner were in immediate mortal danger. Then he pulled the trigger. He was sorry about the results, but he had had no choice. I submit that Mr. Hannibal Heyes shot Sean Gunther, III, entirely in self-defense. Therefore you must find him innocent."

The judge then gave his final instructions to the jury. "Gentlemen of the jury, the question to be decided here is a simple one, although the evidence is not simple. Mr. Heyes was certainly surprised by Mr. Gunther and was not intending to find him and kill him; therefore this is not first degree murder. But if Mr. Heyes fired at Mr. Gunther to save his own life, then you must find that he acted in self-defense and you must find him innocent of second-degree murder. If he fired to kill the man for any other reason than to save himself, then you must find him guilty of second-degree murder, for which he is likely to spend the rest of his life in prison. If you have any reasonable doubt whatsoever that Mr. Heyes fired to kill Mr. Gunther rather than to save himself, then you must find Mr. Heyes innocent. That is the letter of the law. Gentlemen, consult together and when you have come to a unanimous decision, report back to the court and let us know your findings. Do you have any questions? Do you require anything? Or are you ready to consult to make your finding?"

The jury foreman looked around the jury and all shook their heads at him. The little round man stood and said, in his rumbling bass voice, "Your honor, we are ready to consult and make our finding. If we take more than a little time at it, we are likely to require dinner before we can conclude. Other than that, we require nothing more. We understand what we must do." The jury quietly filed out. Every one of them glanced curiously at Heyes, who looked back with perfect calm and solemnity. He did not flinch from meeting their inquiring gazes, but he also did not seek to change their opinion in any way as they walked past him.

The court room emptied quickly as people went to get their dinners, hoping to eat quickly and not miss anything. The kid was taken away, silent and tense, but the marshals said that they would bring him back to the courtroom for the verdict. Heyes and his marshals and lawyer remained until nearly everyone else had left. Now that the jury was not watching, Beth came as near as she could to Heyes and said, with tears welling in her eyes, "Darling, how are you?"

Heyes could not muster a smile. "Worried, love. About you as much as me. Are you alright? Do you have everything you need?"

"Everything but you! And oh, I'm so worried about Jed!"

"I wish I could say I wasn't, but I am, too. Either we both go down or neither, I think. I just wish we knew!"

Then the marshals took Heyes away to a meeting room where he and Cole ate a brief, sparse supper of beef stew. It was good but they could hardly choke it down with the marshals watching them nervously. Yet they were only just finishing and wiping their mouths when the word came that the jury was returning. Cole and Heyes exchanged a questioning glance. Then they hustled back to their places in the courtroom. Soon they were standing as the judge returned to the bench.

Then the jury filed back in. The conclusion was obvious. The jurors were smiling to each other and at Heyes. The Kid was brought in his chains to stand near Heyes. The courtroom was still half empty with the gallery folks streaming back in after their suppers when the little round jury foremen stood and announced in a shout to be heard above the commotion, "We have reached a verdict, your honor."

"Well, out with it man – what is it?" said the judge.

"Hannibal Heyes is innocent of second degree murder!" proclaimed the foreman, smiling.

"You are all agreed and that is the finding of you all?" asked the judge, fulfilling the traditional formula.

"Yes, your honor, it is." The rapidly filling courtroom erupted in cheers and yells and applause. But Heyes didn't smile and neither did Cole or the Kid or Beth.

The judge looked solemnly at Heyes and spoke loudly above the continuing noise. "Mr. Heyes, I wish that I could say go on your way with no stain upon your character, but the marshals standing ready to arrest you make it clear that that would be premature. I can only wish you justice, Mr. Heyes, and your partner as well. You have certainly won some loyal friends. I know that there are many more of them not in attendance here."

"Thank you, your honor," said Heyes in a choked voice. "I, too, hope only for justice for my partner and myself."

As promised, four marshals stepped forward and said, "Hannibal Heyes and Jedediah Curry, we are here to arrest you both for the armed robbery of the Merchant's Bank of Blackfork, Wyoming, on the thirty-first of August in the year 1883. Come quietly and we will take you to Cheyenne, Wyoming to stand trial."

Beth pushed her way to Heyes' side, saying, "Oh, Love, they can't lock you up!"

Heyes took Beth in his chained arms, "I sure hope not. If they put us away, my darling, they'll never let us go." And he kissed her long and deep. There were enough of the press and public around for that last ringing line to quickly find its way into the papers and then the ballad singers took it up. But something much more dramatic happened after that in words too soft for any press or strangers at all to hear.

Heyes and the Kid stepped toward the marshals. "Could I have a moment with my fiancée and my lawyer and my partner, please, gentlemen?" asked Heyes in a dull, low voice.

"Yes, Mr. Heyes, but only a moment. They can all see you later," said the lead marshal.

"Cole, will you please represent us both in Wyoming?" asked Heyes, with the Kid nodding his agreement.

Cole nodded, "Yes, gentlemen. I'll do it gratis. We all know it won't take long."

"Yeah, with the case they chose – as open and shut a conviction as anyone could ask," said Heyes grimly.

In the loud commotion Beth came to Heyes' side, motioning Curry close so the three could share news that no one else, not even Cole, would hear. She whispered the question that was worrying them both, "Jed, is Cat here in town?"

The Kid shook his head, glancing to make sure that no marshals or anyone else was close enough to overhear him. "No, she's home. She's been sick."

"Sick?" asked Heyes, suddenly very worried.

The Kid gave a lopsided, nervous grin, "Don't worry – nothing seven months' time won't cure."

"Morning sickness!" whispered Beth, torn between joy and anguish. "Oh, Kid!"

"Yeah," said the Kid gruffly under his breath, "I'm the worst rat in the West. I left the poor lady to have Kid Curry's bastard all alone." Jed Curry bowed his head and burst into tears. Beth and Heyes put their arms around the Kid and wept with him, the two men's chains chiming harshly together. Soon there would be one more person to whom the partners' uncertain future would mean everything.

Finally, the marshals obliged the trio to part, but they did it as gently as they could. "I'm so sorry, Miss," said the lead marshal, "but we have to go. We have to catch that train to Cheyenne." Beth was left weeping in the courtroom with Charlie and Jim rushing to her side.

"Good-bye, Heyes!" called Harvey the marshal after his fellow marshals. Heyes turned and waved at him. A dozen lawmen led the partners out of the courthouse and down the street in chains amid noisy crowds and men selling popcorn. A brass band began to play "Home Sweet Home." Although it was after 7:00 at night it was still daylight and the sinking sun had come out to gleam like gold on the wet streets of Helena, Montana.

But suddenly everyone ran for cover as the pounding rain returned and thunder rolled in the distance. By the time they got to the train station, there was no one at all to greet the dripping-wet company of notorious outlaws and marshals. There was not one person who had come to cheer or yell or forecast doom or wave a sign.


	52. Chapter 52

Heyes sneezed and sneezed again. "Bless you!" said a young marshal with a handlebar mustache. The Kid chimed in as well. Heyes nodded his thanks to both. It was miserable traveling in chains on a train in wet clothes. But at least, in contrast to his brutal trip from New York to Montana, he had guards who cared enough to lend him a handkerchief and even bothered to be polite. And this trip Heyes had the Kid beside him. It was good to be together again. Yet Heyes sat with his head in his hands, wondering and worrying – even more for the Kid and his burgeoning family than for himself.

There was no one either man could ask about the progress of the amnesty, so they had no idea of what might really be coming next. Officially, it was a single trial about a theft the partners and their gang had committed nearly eight years before. But without amnesty, it would really be life in prison. There were, after all, forty-two other similar charges that could be brought and a wide assortment of other offenses beyond that. It would have been much less of a problem if there had been a statute of limitation on felonies in Wyoming, but as the partners had learned years ago, there wasn't. Heyes' and Curry's crimes would stand forever until or unless they got their long promised amnesty.

The presence of their corps of guards meant that Heyes and the Kid couldn't talk about the two things that were most on their minds – the amnesty and Cat's pregnancy. The first would be blown if it was not kept secret and the second would dishonor Cat irreparably. So, ironically, the partners who had so missed each other sat on seats opposite each other not knowing quite what to say.

"I appreciate your coming up here for this Kid, but now . . ." Heyes started awkwardly.

The Kid was out of sorts and his voice was tense, "You heard what I told Cole and the judge! I wasn't just bein' noble, Heyes. I had to come. They would've brought me up to Wyoming for this trial coming up, anyhow."

Heyes said, "But I still appreciate it, Kid – your leaving . . ."

His partner cut him off, "Just stop sayn' thanks, Heyes! We got to go on ahead, like when a posse's after us. We got no time to look back."

Heyes sighed. "You're right, Kid. It's great to hear all those nice things said about me, but none of it matters a damn, now. We have to go on. And maybe on into prison, but God I hope not! I can't imagine why they'd bring us to this trial if not for . . ." and he had to stop as he ran into the subject of the amnesty. He tried again, "I keep thinking about . . ." and he had to stop again, realizing that he was about to bring up another thing he couldn't mention in front of the guards. It was Senator Francis Warren's message that he was wondering about, but he knew that it must be kept secret. If anyone knew that the Senator had sent a message to Heyes and the Kid about the amnesty deal, the deal would be off.

"My boss tells me . . . hmn . . . guess I can't talk about that, either." The Kid fell silent and glanced uneasily at their guards. The marshals pretended not to be listening in despite the fact that they could hardly help hearing every word said just feet away from them. "Funny weather we've been havin', ain't it, Heyes?" said the Kid at last, chuckling. It really was kind of funny that two such close partners couldn't find anything much that they could talk about. So long as the marshals were there, the Kid's work with Sheriff Wilde was off the possible topics list as well. And so was any possible legal strategy. And so was anything about Lom Trevors – the man they kept expecting to arrive and yet he never did.

Heyes sighed again and leaned his head on his hands. "It's all my fault, Kid. If I hadn't . . ."

The Kid snapped, "Cut it out, Heyes! I'm sick a' you takin' all the blame on yourself! I was a grown man and did those robberies right alongside a' you!

Heyes growled, "You weren't a grown man when you were thirteen years old, Jed, and I took you into being an outlaw with me. So cut yourself a break."

The Kid growled back, "You weren't grown either, Heyes. I mean, you were fifteen! So you could use a break, too!"

Heyes winced, "You're even grouchier than I am, Kid, which is sayin' something. What's the matter?"

The Kid hung his head, "You know what the matter is. Heyes! Lots a' stuff, all bad. And this damn beard of mine is itching so bad. Useless thing! Sure didn't stop that creep Clitterhouse from spotting me."

"So that's what it is! The beard!" Heyes laughed and, eventually, the Kid laughed with him. "Gentlemen," Heyes said to the Marshals, "anybody got a razor this man can borrow?"

"Oh, right, Heyes!" laughed a rotund blonde marshal named, comically enough, Jones, "like we're gonna hand Kid Curry a cut-throat razor! And what about a Colt 45 and some ammunition while we're at it?!" So then everyone in the car was laughing. But behind the laughter, they were worried and even scared.

The partners squirmed around on their leather seats in damp clammy clothing that slowly dried on their bodies. As the evening went on, things got pretty quiet. Eventually the two emotionally exhausted prisoners fell asleep in their seats.

Heyes awoke sometime in the middle of the night, but he didn't move as he heard two of the marshals talking together quietly in the assumption that their prisoners were both still asleep. Anything he could learn from their unguarded exchange could possibly be helpful at some point. But soon Heyes was sorry that he was listening.

"Seem like decent men, Heyes and the Kid. Just like they always say. But they'll send 'em to the State Pen anyhow."

"Sure enough – no way out of it. I don't envy those boys at all, from what I been hearing about that place the last couple of years. Not many guys live to get out, but the ones that do . . ."

"I know. I've seen 'em. Those eyes. I seen a lot of jail birds kind a jumpy when they get out, but not like that. There's something bad wrong at the Pen."

"Yeah. Criminals gotta' take their medicine, but nothin' should do that to men."

Heyes felt a chill go down his spine. The words he was hearing were bad enough, but the tone of the men's voices was worse. These weren't men who were soft on crime, yet they were truly appalled by something that was going on at the Wyoming State Penitentiary. Heyes prayed harder than ever that the amnesty would come through. He had no desire whatsoever to find out any more about what had the marshals so upset.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next afternoon they arrived in Cheyenne. Once again, there were crowds of gawkers to look at the celebrity outlaws as they were taken to the jail in a paddy wagon very similar to the one Heyes had ridden in when he had been arrested in New York City. Some people yelled support, some yelled curses, but mostly they just seemed to be there to enjoy themselves and eat popcorn. The Kid fidgeted on the slick seat of the paddy wagon and looked out the bars. He hadn't had this experience before as Heyes had, of being paraded through the streets. Curry wanted to hide and be alone with his fears and his grief. But alone was one thing he didn't get to be.

When the paddy wagon stopped at the local jail, more than a dozen marshals lined the path so the boys had no way to go but straight down to the sidewalk and into the hall that led right to their cell. They shared a single bare cell, but there were other prisoners in the cells around them who gawked.

One rough looking man with a black beard yelled, "Well, Heyes and Curry! Maybe we'll get some decent grub with the professor and the gunman here."

Heyes winced at the nickname he had gotten. Being a professor was one thing he had never achieved. He still wanted it, but such a possibility seemed more fantastical by the moment.

The pair of former outlaws had a nasty, utterly unprivate evening of bad food, and gawking guards and coarse fellow prisoners. "When you breakin' us out, Heyes? They say you hate to spend the night in jail. Well so do I!" called a scruffy black bearded man on trial for murder. He looked too much like one of the Teasdale brothers for comfort.

The boys had a hard time falling asleep on their thin, buggy bunks.

Finally, the next morning after a vile breakfast of gruel was served, Cole arrived. He had convinced the authorities that he had to have time alone with his clients.

The marshals led the boys on their chains to a handsomely appointed meeting room strikingly at odds with the stark, filthy conditions of the jail. They sat with their chains clicking against the polish mahogany of the table and leather-cushioned chairs. Finally, the marshals were gone and the three men could have some privacy to talk honestly.

"You heard anything, Cole, from the governors, or the Senator, or Lom?" asked Heyes eagerly.

Cole shook his head. "Nothing. I'm terribly sorry, but no, not a word. But what was that news about that you didn't want anyone in the courtroom to hear? Even I couldn't hear it, but I sure could hear you sobbing. If it's that bad I need to know, guys."

"Well, it's only bad if we don't get the amnesty. If we get the amnesty it's great. It's sensational," said Heyes.

"But if we don't, it's – I don't know a word bad enough," said the Kid.

"So what is it?" asked Cole, consumed with anxious curiosity.

The Kid just hung his head silently, so Heyes answered, "The Kid's gonna be a daddy. And, since he was waitin' for the amnesty, he hasn't gotten around to marryin' the lady."

"Oh!" said Cole, "Congratulations, Kid! But you had better keep that quiet, out of respect for the lady in question. It just makes me pray for the amnesty all that much more. My shower present had better be getting you off so your child gets to have a father."

The Kid nodded silently, unwilling to say a word on the subject to a virtual stranger.

Cole pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pencil. He looked back and forth between his two clients and said, "So tell me about this Blackfork robbery in 83. What's your defense?"

"Defense!" hooted Heyes, "We got no defense! We're as guilty as sin. I planned the job . . ."

The Kid broke in, "And so did I, as per usual . . ."

Heyes glared at his partner, who stubbornly refused to be defended, and continued, "as usual, and I opened the safe – a Stiffel and Freeman model 999. I was the only man west of the Mississippi who could open one without dynamite and it took me only four hours. The Kid and the guards stood guard with guns, so that's the armed part. All eight of us carried away the haul. It went clean as a whistle. No witnesses, but no doubts, either. We were the only ones who could've done it and we did it. If you wanted any other witnesses but us and the bank security guys in the box, you'd have to get the Hole guys themselves. And to get them, the ones who are still alive, you'd have to go up there with an army and a lot of luck. There'd be blood spilled – a lot of it. No, the only thing we can do is plead guilty and pray for amnesty. Right, Kid?"

"For once I agree with you, Heyes," said the Kid.

Cole bristled uselessly. "Who's the lawyer here? I'm the one who gives the legal advice, Heyes! Being a genius or a notorious criminal isn't qualification enough. Being admitted to the bar is. And there's only one of those in this room and that's me."

"Alright Mr. Lawyer, what do we do?" laughed Heyes bitterly.

Cole started to speak, "If there were no witnesses, see what we can do . . ."

Heyes interrupted him, "But we're guilty! We did it! I'm the only man in history ever to have opened one of those safes without dynamite. I did it three times and on the other two I'm afraid they didn't work out quite that clean- they knew it was me for sure. I'm the only one. Still true to this day, last I know. Guys blew them, but they also got caught. Dynamite, as you may have noticed, makes a lot of noise and tends to attract attention. Draws sheriffs like flies.

And besides, the Blackfork sheriff, eventually, followed one of the sets of tracks from the getaway right to the entrance to the Hole. I know who it was left those tracks and I sure made life hard for him after that! He got off the route I gave him. I worked out those routes practically to the inch and they worked – if followed precisely. He didn't and he gave the game away. But we got back to the Hole before they finished the tracking, and you know nobody's ever gettin' into the Hole with the law. So they never got us on it. But they knew who had gotten away with $57,302.00. And twenty-five cents – there was a quarter sitting at the bottom of the safe."

Cole shrugged, "Oh. Then I guess you'd better plead guilty and pray for amnesty. And by the way, Heyes, knowing the exact amount to the penny of every one of your robberies is weird."

The Kid, who didn't know his new lawyer that well yet, asked, "Are you joking, Cole? I mean about the guilty plea. I'm with you on Heyes – he's weird and always was."

Cole nodded. "I'm afraid not – on the guilty plea. It's all there is - unless you can offer me something better to work with."

The Kid shook his head. "No, Mr. Cole. We're guilty as sin. We did it. And everyone knew it. The folks in our little local town near the Hole – well, sort of near. The real name is Starkville, but we used to joke and call it Tarnation – you know like 'what in tarnation'? They knew about the robbery – the boys bragged about it. They always did, damn them. So the law'd just have to go up there and ask around that place. And we just can't let that happen. They've suffered enough on account a' us," said the Kid.

"And fattened on our account, too, by the way," added Heyes. "We were the main industry in town, actually. They sure missed us when the Kid and I went straight and the Hole boys brought in so much less money. I'm afraid they've got a real grudge against Jed and me. Wouldn't exactly hold back if anyone went up to question them. So no, it's not a good idea to try to pretend we're innocent on Blackfork. Cause we're not. So forget it, Cole. We've got to work on the amnesty instead."

Cole looked grim. "And there's nothing I can do about that, and you know it. If the governors knew that I knew about it, there'd be no amnesty."

Heyes rubbed his tired eyes. "What I keep wondering is about that message that Francis Warren, the Senator, sent to me by telegram. "Do not flinch. Do not fail. Never never never give up." What's the deal with the threes? Three phrases and three nevers on the end. What is about three? What's he trying to tell us?"

The Kid elbowed Heyes hard. "Heyes, not everything has to do with math and numbers! He's just saying not to give up!"

Heyes rubbed his side where the Kid's elbow had dug into it and gave his partner a dirty look. "I know, but he sent this to me. I'm the math guy and he knows it. So this one does come down to math. Or numbers anyhow. I'm sure of it. I just can't figure out what the three thing is about. He's trying to tell me something and I'm just not getting it!"

Heyes got up and paced up and down awkwardly in his chains.

"And anyhow, why would we give up if they give us amnesty? There's nothing to flinch from, nothing to make us fail – other than the last trial, which just wasn't that bad. No, it has to mean that he thinks they might not give us amnesty – or will not. But if they don't, what hope is there?"

Cole and the Kid looked at Heyes in horror. His argument was all too convincing.

Heyes went on with his argument with himself, "I keep thinking about those four powerful men – those governors – and us. They keep letting us down. I think they want us put away where we can't complain or make them look bad. I think they want us to vanish and nobody ever to think about us again. But in that case, how can Warren say never give up? Why not? What does he or anybody else – anybody but our friends, however – what do they care if we get put away and never seen again? I don't get it."

The Kid shook his head. "Heyes, you got a point there. I don't get it neither."

"Neither do I," said Cole. "And what's more, either way, there's nothing I can do about it and I doubt that there's anything you can do, either. Except just to endure what comes and hope that someone comes to get you out of it. Someone from the governors or the senator."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. At last Heyes said, apprehensively, "And Cole, this had better not matter to us personally, but it sure looks like it might. What have you heard about the Wyoming State Pen?"

Cole looked decidedly nervous, biting one corner of his upper lip. "What about it?"

"Then you know what I mean . . . abuse." Heyes spit out the word contemptuously.

Cole looked away to avoid Heyes' and Curry's probing glances. "Yeah, I know what you mean. One hears rumors. It's a bad place and bad things happen to men there. Frankly, it's not a real high administrative priority to make life better for criminals. So nobody's bothered much to try to figure out what's happening or who's doing it. I sure do hope it doesn't get to be a real concern for you. Because there'd be nothing anyone could or would do for you - if your senator and your governors won't help."

Heyes turned in surprise as his partner said in a shaken tone he had rarely heard from him before, "Heyes, I've heard it too. I hate to say it, but since you asked . . . I talked to an old con got out of there. He wasn't much older than we are, actually, but he moved like an old man. Seemed he was in pain all the time. I don't know what they did to him and I don't want to know. He wouldn't tell me, but the look he gave me when I asked . . ."

Heyes couldn't let the Kid go on. "I've gotta' be wrong. They keep sayin' they'll come through, the governors. They've got to. Someone's got to come for us. Someone's gotta get us out 'a this. We've got too much to offer them if we're free. Sheriffing in Colorado, teaching wherever someone'll hire me. No, they gotta get us out 'a this."

"Cole," said the Kid, "it sure goes against the grain to wait for somebody else to come along and help. We always got ourselves out'a things before, didn't we Heyes?"

"Or almost always, Kid," added Heyes. "Remember when Judge Hanley let us out on 'bail?'"

"I'm afraid that won't happen this time, gentlemen," said Cole grimly. And they knew he was right.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The boys still had the whole next day to wait before their hearing was scheduled. So the next morning they woke up tense and paced or lay around nervously in their tiny shared cell. They tried in vain to stay out of each other's way. Repeatedly they tripped over each other's chains or ran into each other. The day seemed like an eternity. And yet it wasn't long enough.

"God, they're takin' their time. When is that . . . you know – when is he – or they - gonna show up? Or our . . . um friend from P-ville?" asked the Kid, trying not to trip over his chain or say too much in front of their guards.

"Gotta come soon," said Heyes, glancing around at the other prisoners and the guards who would be listening to every word they said. "We're too popular. It'd be pol . . . you know what suicide to leave us . . ."

"But only if folks knew, and they don't! What if they don't pull the trigger, like you said yesterday? I mean, they've waited this long . . ." asked the Kid. "So what are you gonna' do, Heyes? What happens?"

Heyes looked bleak, "Come on, Kid. You know. We go to prison. That's it. After all these years . . ."

The Kid's voice fell to a whisper, "Don't you got some kind a' . . .?"

"No!" Heyes answered in an angry whisper. "I got nothin'!" The prisoners around them and the patrolling guards looked up, startled by the tense exchange between the two famous outlaws.

Heyes hung his head. As the older, the leader, he was supposed to have a plan and he had none. They could only wait for someone to come along and deliver them. "I'm sorry, Kid. But you know there's nothing I can do."

"Me, either, Heyes," said the Kid softly. "We're stuck unless . . ."

Heyes nodded and whispered his reply, "Yeah, unless . . . some kind'a political miracle comes along."

Cole came to see them after breakfast. The boys looked eagerly at him. He shook his head. "No news, buys. Nothing. No reply from your friend in P-ville at all."

"I hope there's nothing wrong!" said the Kid.

"I hope not!" said Heyes, "Since there's nothing we can do to help."

"We can't even help us," said the Kid sadly.

At a quarter of noon a figure came down the hall toward the cells. The boys glanced up in keen anticipation . . . and smelled baked beans. It was lunch coming.

An hour later, a slender figure in black came down the hall, his footsteps echoing off the walls eerily. The boys looked up, but it wasn't who they hoped. It was someone the men in the cells knew. They got to their feet respectfully and called soft greetings to a man in a clerical collar. "Hello, Father James! Thanks for comin' to see us!"

After speaking for a few minutes to men he already knew, the prison chaplain went over to the partners' shared cell. "Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes – is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can bring you? Any message I can take to anyone?"

Heyes shook his head. He spoke in low, dispirited tones. "No, Father, our lawyer has done all he can. There's nothing to be done until our hearing tomorrow. But thank you for asking."

"You could pray for us, father!" said the Kid. "We could use it! We've been straight more than seven years and nobody seems to give a . . . nobody cares."

"Would you listen to a Bible verse that might offer some comfort?" asked the priest, with little hope that the men would have any interest.

"Couldn't hurt," said Heyes. "Might be the last kind words we hear for a long, long time." The Kid looked at him in surprise. He had never known his cousin to pay any attention to the Bible.

The slender priest opened his Bible to where he had it marked. He had anticipated the need. He read quietly yet his voice carried to all the cells.

"This is the 121st psalm," said Father James. "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, whence commeth my help . . ." The men in cells all around him fell silent and listened respectfully, when they had not showed respect for anything or anyone else. Heyes and Curry, too, listened thoughtfully. " . . . The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore." The priest concluded.

"Thank you, Father!" whispered many of the men in the cells, including Heyes and the Kid both.

As the priest walked down the hall, Heyes said looked sadly at his partner and said, "Please forgive me, Jed. I've let you down every day of my life. You're a good man and I led you wrong after our folks were killed. I've tried to do better these last years – but it didn't get us far, did it? Maybe if I'd just gone home after I healed up and not been so ambitious to try to stay in New York and study, we'd still be safe."

The Kid looked his partner in the eye. "Aw, Heyes, you've always done your best. I know that. Your studyin' is a good thing and you oughta' know it. It was me got you into trouble in Montana, or we'd both be fine now."

"You were just tryn' to help somebody, like usual, Kid," said Heyes.

As it grew late after dinner, they finally heard more people coming down the hall. One of them was sobbing softly. The gentle sound carried strangely down the echoing halls. As she came nearer, with a marshal on either side, they could see that it was Beth, with Charlie Homer at her side. Heyes, of course, had known this from the first – he would know Beth anywhere. Heyes was surprised and relieved not to hear cat calls or any disrespectful words from the prisoners around him, though they looked up in keen interest to see a woman come to that hard, rough place.

"Can you get him out of there so we can meet alone?" asked Beth of the guards as she drew near. "Please? Mr. Heyes and I are engaged to be married . . ."

"No, ma'am, I'm sorry, we can't do that. You got to see him here or nowhere," said a young guard with what sounded like genuine regret in his voice.

"Hello, Heyes. Hello, Jed," said Beth. "I couldn't leave you here all alone tonight. Charlie was good enough to bring me to see you."

"Thanks for coming, Beth, Charlie" said the Kid in a choked voice. He was wishing so much that he could be with his own fiancée, but it was not to be.

Charlie looked at the two prisoners, "Hello, boys. I take that there's no good news?" Heyes and the Kid both shook their heads. Charlie stood quietly by for the engaged pair to come together.

Heyes went to the bars and took his lady's hand, "Oh, Beth, honey, you shouldn't have come here. Don't worry about us. The . . . you know . . . they'll come. They have to!"

Beth tried to be cheerful, but it was a battle, "I know, honey, they will. But still, I didn't want you waiting through the night alone. Don't ever think I've forgotten you. Both of you!"

Heyes sounded hopeless, "Well, if they don't come and we have to go in . . ., Beth – I don't want you left alone for always. Forget me. You find a nice, law-abiding man and . . ."

Beth sobbed again, "No, Heyes! Never! I could forget you – not for a minute! Now, remember – they – they'll come. It's just a matter of when. Some political thing could be keeping them. . . "

"I know – that's what's been keeping them for seven and a half years! It could be another seven and a half years – or never!" Heyes was losing patience.

"Don't lose hope, boys! There are a lot of us in your corner!" said Charlie in as positive a voice as he could manage.

Beth lovingly stroked her fiancé's arm that was resting on one of the bars, "Heyes, Jed, they'll come through. They have to! You know what – what he said. . . Don't you ever give up!"

And then the marshals were saying, "Miss, you got to go. It's getting late. You got to go."

Heyes held Beth's hand through the bars. He whispered, hoping to keep his words for her alone, "I love you, Beth. Remember that! And Charlie, thanks so much!"

She whispered back, in a voice shaking with passion, "I love, you, Heyes! Never, never doubt that." Awkwardly they tried to kiss through the spaces between the bars, but it didn't work very well.

"Heyes!" cried Beth as the marshals gently steered her away down the hall. "I love you! They won't let me be there tomorrow, but I'll be thinking of you and knowing you'll both be safe – in the end, you will. God bless you, both!"

The Kid called, "Beth, please tell Cat that I love her and . . ."

"I knew, Jed, and so does she. I'll tell her," said Beth.

"We'll make sure she's safe! And I'll watch out for Beth." said Charlie. "Hang in there, boys!"

After hours of silence and pacing, as it grew close to midnight, Heyes and Curry could hear the prisoners around them sleeping, but sleep would not come to the prisoners whose hearing was in the morning. The Kid stood and looked into Heyes' eyes where his partner leaned on the cell's bars. He spoke so quietly that Heyes almost had to imagine his words, "Heyes, you really got nothin'?"

Heyes nodded and replied just as softly, "Nothin'. . . Nothing except," his eyes fell to the floor, ". . . the old last plan."

The Kid's lips parted and his eyes widened. He whispered. "No! Not now that I'm gonna' be . . ."

Heyes whispered miserably, looking down and away from his partner's appalled eyes that sparkled in the light of a distant lamp. "I know. Well, that's all I got, Kid. That or life in prison. A bad prison."

The Kid tried to keep up his spirits, "But you remember what . . . what he said – not to give up. Someone has to come!"

"Yeah," said Heyes, "He doesn't want us to give up. Hmn. Might just be playing with us."

"He doesn't seem like that kinda' man to me, Heyes," said the Kid softly. "I trust him."

And Heyes let those words stand. Eventually, the two tried their hard, thin mattresses again and they slept a little in the stillness before dawn.

Finally, the sun rose, though no faintest beam came into the dark inner halls of the jail. But lamps were lit. Guards brought the prisoners their thin gruel and bad coffee breakfast. As they finished eating, a marshal came hurrying back to Heyes and Curry. He was carrying a pile of clothes. "Look, boys! Your good suits and change of linen came in on the train from Montana last night! Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, marshal, just peachy," said the Kid. "Thanks."

Heyes and the Kid, with no privacy and only a minute or two without their chains, climbed into their best suits. The clothes were a bit wrinkled, but much better than the dirty things they had been wearing for three days.

The marshals weren't hostile, but they weren't friendly either as they accompanied the pair to the red brick courthouse with its high Mansard roof. It was warming up and beginning to rain. The crowd was thin but friendly and noisy, yelling things like "We love you boys!" "They got to let you go!" "God bless you!" A lovely young woman woman in the gathered crowd sprang forward with a big black umbrella to hold over the Kid. Heyes was irritated that he got wet - no one brought an umbrella for him.

But once they got up the courthouse steps, there were no crowds. The marshals hustled the boys down the long, echoing, empty halls to the courtroom. It was an elaborately ornamented courtroom, but it stood mostly empty with no one in the jurors' box or in the gallery. The only people in the room were Heyes and the Kid, their four guards, the judge, a couple of clerks, Cole, and the prosecuting attorney. More guards stood outside, guns at the ready, watching for the Devil's Hole gang to ride in. Of course, no such thing happened. Heyes was relieved not to see Beth there or any other friends. And no reporters. There was no one from the governors. No Lom.

The boys hoped that someone would arrive, so they kept looking toward the courtroom's massive white wooden doors, but they remained closed.

The judge, a wiry old man, looked fiercely at the partners. He spoke in a harsh, high voice in a decided western accent that echoed off the walls of the largely empty room, "Please state your full names."

"Jedediah Curry."

"Hannibal Heyes."

"Clerk, please swear them both in."

A mousey little grey-haired clerk said, "Gentlemen, please place your left hands on the Bible and raise your right hands. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"I do."

The judge moved swiftly to the charge. "Jedediah Curry and Hannibal Heyes, you are charged with the armed robbery of the Merchants Bank of Blackfork, Wyoming then Territory, on August 31st, 1883. How do you plead, Mr. Curry?"

"Guilty, your honor," said the Kid steadily as he stood in his chains and looked respectfully at the judge.

The judge nodded as the clerks scribbled. The judge turned to Heyes, "And you, Mr. Heyes, how to do you plead?"

"Guilty, your honor," said Heyes, struggling successfully to keep his voice as steady as the Kid's. He had never been so scared in all his life, or at least not since the day his family had been slaughtered. He hoped that no one could tell this by looking at him, but he wasn't at all sure of that.

"Do you have anything more to say, gentlemen or does your representative? Is there any reason that you should not be given the customary penalty of twenty years in prison for this crime?" asked the old judge, looking back and forth at them and obviously expecting some argument.

The proceedings were abruptly interrupted as the tall doors of the courtroom swung slowly opened. A tall, slender middle-aged man with a long brown beard and a tall top hat hurried through, wiping his brow and looking at his gold pocket watch. "Sorry to be late gentlemen . . ." Heyes, Curry, and Cole looked up with hungry eyes – the man from the governors!

"You are interrupting a hearing, sir!" said the judge, very annoyed.

"Sorry – the train was late!" said the man, taking off his hat and looking anxiously at Heyes and Curry. The partners stared eagerly at the skinny man.

"Well, who are you, sir?" inquired the judge, in a rising temper.

"I'm Harman Kennedy. I'm the representative of," and the new arrival stopped to look down at a piece of paper in his hand, while Heyes, Curry, and Cole looked on, waiting "of the Merchants Bank of Blackfork, Wyoming!" The former outlaws and their lawyer stood stunned in disappointment. This man was on the wrong side!

"Oh!" said the judge, "Sorry to have started without you. Well, this'll be brief. They pled guilty, both of 'em. Have you anything to say, Mr. Kennedy?"

"Not at this time, sir," said the man from the bank as he took a seat.

The judge looked back at Heyes and Curry, "As I was saying, you who stand accused, have you anything more to say?"

Heyes stood very straight as he addressed the judge, taking care not to rattle his chain, "Your honor, and I speak for both of us, we would like to apologize to the people of Wyoming for this and our other crimes against them. We have gone straight – not committed any crimes except for a couple of jail breaks - for more than seven years. And you know that we have aided in the arrests of criminals and turned in a great deal of stolen money. But we recognize our past crimes and we regret them very deeply. Mr. Curry and I planned the Merchants Bank of Blackfork robbery. I opened the safe by the manipulation of the tumblers while our gang stood with with guns at the ready. We and our confederates took the money away to our headquarters at Devil's Hole. We are guilty as charged. We stand ready to serve our sentences."

The judge nodded briskly. "Accused, please stand," declared the court clerk. The Kid got up from his seat and stood beside Heyes, with his heart sinking. The judge did not appear to be in a forgiving mood.

The judge looked back and forth between the two former outlaws. "The people of Wyoming don't give a damn for your apology! They just miss their money!" said the judge snapped. "Twenty years hard labor at the Wyoming State Penitentiary, both of you!" He impassively pounded his gavel once and cried. "Marshals, take them away." The judge blew his nose and turned his face away from the men who stood before him.

Heyes and the Kid stood frozen in shock. They looked at the doors of the courtroom. But no one came. The courtroom doors stayed closed. Heyes' arguments for why they had to get amnesty had seemed to make such perfect sense. But so did his arguments for why the four governors would want them put away.

After all their years straight, trying and waiting and dodging posses, it seemed impossible that they would be hauled off and made to serve twenty years at the hard rock pile. A representative of the four governors had to appear and save them! But there was a long silence and no one came forward. No Lom. Nobody.

The marshals pulled at the partners' chains and urged them on their way, "What' cha waitin' for? Heyes; Curry – move it! We got fifty miles to cover today to the Penitentiary at Laramie. There's a special train waitin' just for you. Can't keep 'em waitin'."

"Oh my God!" whispered Cole. "I'm sorry!"

Heyes, his eyes hard and blank, said in a flat voice, "We knew there was nothing you could do, Cole. It was up to . . . those men who let us down."

"Good-bye, Cole," said the Kid in a warmer tone, "And thanks."

"Good luck! I'll do all I can!" said Cole.

"Shut up, n_!" growled the head marshal viciously at Cole. "Move it, Heyes, Curry! Don't expect no special treatment. You won't get it, boys."

Heyes and Curry exchanged miserable glances. Their long run from justice was over. They were on their way to prison at last. The jokes they had made so often about their twenty years behind bars had turned very serious, indeed. They could only suppose that, as Heyes had told Beth back in Montana, once they were put away they would never be let out.

The doors to the courthouse finally opened.

The marshals led Curry and Heyes out the doors. They went down the hall and down the steep stone steps to the paddy wagon that would take them to the train station. The wind blew and the rain fell. Thunder rumbled. The supportive crowds stood appalled and struck dumb as they watched their heroes carted away, not freed but being put away. The young woman with the umbrella stood and wept in the dripping rain, forgetting to raise her umbrella to keep Curry dry, or even to shield herself. Her long blonde hair was bedraggled and dripping in the rain.

The public couldn't believe that their heroes were still in chains and being taken to prison. The partners couldn't believe it. This just couldn't be happening. But it was.


	53. Chapter 53

As Heyes and the Kid climbed the steps to the train station, there were lines of marshals on either side of them. The uniformed young men were keyed up by their famous charges and the threat of a gang coming to spring them. The partners hurried to get out of the rain, and because their guards were pulling them along by their heavy chains. The two prisoners were urged to walk as fast as they could toward the platform where a train with only a coal car, a caboose and two passenger cars waited to take them to Laramie, home of the Wyoming State Penitentiary. The marshals didn't want any attempts to free their notorious charges. A cordon of officers kept the public several yards back.

No one gave them any trouble until they came to a little group of people on the platform who tried to get near the infamous partners. The marshals hurried their charges past an unexpected crowd of Heyes' friends from New York. There was no time for more than a glimpse of the teary-eyed Beth on Charlie Homer's arm, with Jim as their side – those friends Heyes had seen in court, but he was far more surprised to catch all too fleeting sight of Paul Huxtable, Everett Carter, Neal George, Polly Moore from the clinic, and most surprising of all, the young undergraduate Karen Horn. The Kid had never seen many of them, nor had they seen him. It was a terrible moment for these people from two sides of Heyes' life to finally see each other, without even time to say hello.

Shouts followed Heyes and the Kid, all overlapping. Tough little Jim leaned the closest and yelled, "Hang in there, Heyes, K-Kid! You're gonna make it!"

"We believe in you!" yelled Everett Carter anxiously.

"I can't believe it, Heyes!" called Neal George sorrowfully, and angrily. "They can't do this to you guys! It's wrong!"

Heyes could see that young Paul Huxtable was in tears.

At the last, as the boys were climbing onto the train and waving to their friends. With marshals all around them, Heyes from that higher vantage point saw his fiancée mouthing what he was sure was, "Never give up!" He blew her a kiss and nodded, but his eyes belied the positive gesture. Beth was far from sure that Heyes would last long in so hard a prison. She wiped her eyes as her lover vanished from sight.

The boys kept looking back behind them as the train carried them away from their friends and all they had known before. But soon Cheyenne disappeared into the hills behind them. As they got out into the countryside, they settled into their ride with a dozen marshals sharing the train car with them and more in the cars on either side. For a while, Heyes and the Kid both just looked blankly out at the Wyoming landscape going by the windows, still not quite believing what was happening to them. The Kid studied Heyes' dark eyes. He felt that he had not seen his partner look so hopeless since the days just after he had been shot in the head; then Heyes had been unable to even understand speech, much less say a word.

But without warning Heyes seemed to snap out of his depression. He said lightly to one of their guards, "This is awful dull, gentlemen. Anybody got a deck of cards, or better yet, two?"

"Come on Heyes, you got no money on you to play poker or blackjack! And even if you did, they'd take your winnings away from you in prison," laughed a young red-haired marshal.

Heyes grinned and asked, "Who said anything about poker? There's other stuff you can do with cards! I'll show you." The Kid watched in surprise as his partner went from desperate despair to charming smiles and showmanship. Curry darted a questioning glance at Heyes. The wary dark eyes that looked back told the Kid to watch for something to happen when the marshals were distracted. The Kid then knew without a doubt what it would be. He gave Heyes the tiniest grim shake of his head with his own eyes filled with warning. Heyes' return gaze flared angrily. But by the time any lawman could see, he was smiling again.

A grizzled old marshal laughed at Heyes and tossed him a deck of cards in a battered cardboard box. Despite his chains, Heyes caught them with ease. Another pack came flying from a couple of rows away. The infamous outlaw leaned forward and snatched the errantly arching deck effortlessly out of the air behind his back without even seeming to look to find it.

Heyes looked questioningly at the head marshal sitting next to him and gestured to the floor of the car, where he would have plenty of flat space to put his card skills to work. The man shrugged and nodded. What dangerous thing could a notorious outlaw do on the floor that he couldn't on a seat? Then Heyes pointed at his chains. The marshal hesitated a long moment before he agreed to take them off. But he watched Heyes like a hawk. There were marshals encircling the famous escape artist, every one of them with a gun at hand, so it seemed terribly unlikely that anything untoward could happen. But with Hannibal Heyes, one could never be sure.

Heyes slid to the floor, taking the cards with him. The vibrating floor of the train car rattling over the tracks wasn't the best card table in the world, but it would do. The marshals leaned in around Heyes and watched to see what he was going to do with two decks of cards and no money or chips. The Kid leaned over to watch, too. He knew why Heyes was doing this, but he actually wasn't sure exactly what it was that his partner would do. The five pat hands trick? The mind reading trick?

But no, Heyes got out the two decks and shuffled each in the regular way. Then he shuffled one deck in each hand, riffling through the two decks simultaneously. Then the cards flared and fanned gracefully in pretty arcs in both hands at once. Then Heyes had the cards running smoothly as water from hand to hand. Then he was making a series of elegant interlocking geometric shapes with the cards as they cascaded from his upper hand to his lower hand and then climbed back up. Soon every marshal in the car was there, joined by a couple from the car next door. They gathered around intently watching Heyes' silent artistry. There was no sound from the master card man except the soft purring and flicking of the cards.

Heyes demonstrated a fabulous parade of deck flourishes and visual surprises. Cards appeared and disappeared like magic, prompting gasps and laughs. The Kid watched, as entertained as anyone else in the crowd. It was a beautiful sight as his partner demonstrated more and more of the tricks and decorative displays that he had practiced just for pleasure since he was a boy. Except for a couple of fancy shuffles that he had occasionally used when he and the Kid were making a few bucks dealing in some saloon, no one but the Kid and Heyes himself had ever seen Heyes do any of these showy moves. The marshals applauded and whistled in delight. The Kid gaped at a fluttering series of cascades that even he had never seen before, and then a spectacular run of cards flashing into and out of both his partner's hands between different fingers at lightning speed.

Heyes gathered the decks back and paused for a moment. He wiped his brow with a white on blue polka dotted handkerchief. He spoke for the first time since he had begun his performance. "Can't somebody open a window? Gettin' hot in here!"

"Sure, Heyes!" said one of the marshals, who put up a window to let in some sooty air. "Gosh, I never heard you did cards tricks!" The other marshals murmured agreement. In truth, no one but the Kid had ever known it. Even Curry had seen such flashy maneuvers only rarely. Heyes usually kept them for his own private amusement.

"Well, now you know," said Heyes smoothly, and then went back to his incredible parade of sleight of hand tricks and card fireworks. As he exercised his card skills, the Kid noticed, Heyes let his tricks keep him moving always to his left. Under cover of spectacular card moves, he was moving closer and closer to that opened window, just an inch or so at a time. Finally, he was right under the window.

Suddenly, in the midst of a spectacular two-deck flourish, Heyes let the cards go. 104 cards filled the air and fluttered down as Heyes laughed as his own apparent clumsiness. The chuckling marshals leaned over to pick up the fallen cards from all over the train car. While they looked away from him, Heyes stood swiftly and caught the Kid's eye. His partner crossed his arms and shook his head emphatically. No. He would not turn to the criminal's standard last desperate plan.

When Heyes looked toward the head marshal, it was with no surprise that he saw that the man's gun cocked in his hand. The mustachioed head marshal muttered quietly to one of his men, "Close that stupid window. If these men got out, we'd have to shoot them down." He glanced sharply at Heyes to point out that he was well aware of what the famous outlaw had nearly done. Or had he? Even the Kid was not quite sure if Heyes had ever really been serious about going out that beckoning window and taking a hail of bullets in his back – or if it had just been one last gesture to demonstrate his control over his own fate.

Heyes shrugged and knelt to pick up the cards and gather them back into decks to continue his tricks. The senator's words - "Never, never, never give up," echoed in his head. And Beth's whispered exhortation. So Heyes passed up the easy way and turned to the hard road ahead to which the Kid had already committed himself. Heyes glanced up from the train floor and caught a glimpse of a tiny, crooked smile from his partner.

The young carrot-topped marshal gaped at Heyes in shock as he belatedly understood that he had just witnessed the approach and retreat of violent death. No one else was so graceless as to take notice of their charges' flirtation with suicide by marshal. Heyes ignored the young man and went on with the show for a few minutes more. There was a polite smattering of applause from the crowd of marshals as the cards cascaded and fanned and flashed. But the lighthearted mood was gone. The air in the car felt cool as a soft rain fell on the Wyoming hills outside Laramie.


	54. Chapter 54

Heyes was soon back in his chains. The marshals got into a neat formation before, after, and around their shackled charges as they approached the Laramie train station. A crowd of gawkers – men and women, adults and children, cowboys and stock clerks, met the train as it arrived in Laramie. They chattered among themselves but did not shout - except one hollow-eyed old man yelled in a deep voice, "Welcome to hell, boys!" Heyes and Curry shared a look – that didn't bode well for them! In combination with what they had already heard about their destination, it made the pair very nervous. But they tried not to show this to anyone – least of all to each other.

The people stared at Heyes and Curry in their chains as the marshals escorted them from the train to a black paddy wagon. Two marshals rode on top of the paddy wagon, while the others rode alongside of it and before and behind it on a dozen horses that had been waiting, tacked up, at the station. It made a regular parade. A few locals rode along on their own horses for a while, but they soon gave up and went home to get out of the dripping rain. Heyes wondered idly when he and the Kid would get to ride horses again - if ever. Would they ever have that much space, that much freedom, again?

As they rode in the jouncing wagon down the dirt road from the dusty frontier town with its false fronted businesses out to the prison, the boys had a chance to talk in relative privacy for the first time since Christmas. They knew that it might be the last time in a long, long time. The rattling wagon made enough noise that they doubted any of their guards could hear them if they kept their voices low.

"Well, here it is - the Wyoming State Pen. We've joked about it plenty. Wonder if we'll get adjoining cells?" said the Kid as lightly as he could.

"I doubt it, Kid. They wouldn't want us together and I can't blame them. Too bad. It'll be lonesome without you around drive me crazy." He winked at his cousin. But then Heyes went deadly serious as he looked into his partner's worried blue eyes, "Kid, we've talked enough about that telegram I got. What did yours say? You never told me. Was it the same as mine?"

The Kid studied the floor of the wagon. "I'd rather not say, Heyes."

Heyes was startled and hurt. "Well, if that's how you want to finish our partnership, by hiding things from me, I guess that's your choice. I trust you, but if you don't trust me. . ."

The Kid was frustrated, "Heyes! It ain't like that. I trust you, but some things . . ."

Heyes was warming into being angry and his voice grew louder, "What? You don't think I could handle it?"

Curry bent low toward Heyes and whispered, "Shush, Heyes! The deal could still come through, some time! We don't want to mess it up by lettin' the marshals hear!"

"Yeah, so what about it?" Heyes asked in a whisper.

Curry spoke very quietly and looked concerned. "Alright, alright, Heyes! But promise you won't fly off the handle!"

"Since when do I fly off the handle?" Heyes asked huffily.

The Kid was angry in his turn, "Since just now when you tried right on purpose to get us killed! I got responsibilities! If there's any chance of us gettin' out of this ever, I got to stick around for Cat and our baby! It don't matter how bad it is until then. I got to put up with it and stick around. And you ought to stick around for Beth, at least."

Heyes spoke quietly and with regret, "I'm sorry, Kid. Yeah, I will stick around – for all the folks I care about - as long as I can. I don't promise more than that. But I need to know all the information I can get. So what did War . . ." Heyes paused and looked at the marshals and decided not to risk the whole name "he say to you in that wire?"

The Kid licked his lips nervously. "He said to stick around. And he said . . . he said to watch you like a hawk." His voice fell to a bare whisper, "He said to make sure you stick around, too."

Heyes made an effort to stay calm, but that people in power thought he was weak enough to be a suicide risk wasn't the world's most comforting piece of intelligence, "And why does he think I need watching? What did you tell him, Kid?"

The Kid looked sad. It hurt him to have to wound Heyes like this, "I don't know who told him what – it wasn't me! But you know real well there's stuff to tell aplenty! After you got shot in the head and you tried to – you know."

Heyes said, in dread, "No, I don't know. What? Come on Kid, we don't have much time."

The Kid looked away and then back into Heyes' brown eyes. "When you tried to . . . tried to do yourself in so many times."

"I tried what?!" Heyes was dumfounded.

The Kid didn't know why the man was denying what they both knew so well. He looked down as he spoke so he wouldn't have to see the hurt in Heyes' eyes. "You know! When you kept goin' out in the freezin' cold without a coat, and looking for knives in the kitchen to stab yourself with, and when you was tryn' to open the safe and get your gun so you could shoot yourself." But then there so long a pause that the Kid had to look up at Heyes to figure out what was going on.

Heyes was staring open-mouthed at the Kid. When Heyes could talk at all, he explained, staying as calm and rational as he could in the face of this stunning revelation, "When I was trying to get my gun, I just wanted to get my own property back. Everything else was taken from me – even my voice. I just wanted to be in charge of my own stuff. I'm a man, after all! I sure didn't want to kill myself! But the rest of that - what you just told me, I don't recall that at all. Are you sure?"

The Kid spoke softly but firmly, "Course I'm sure! I saw you! Peggy and Cat and I saved you over and over! We couldn't hardly trust you for a minute by yourself! The doc even said we might have to put you away, but we wouldn't hear of it. Don't blame the doc! He was at wit's end worryin' over you. And you don't recollect any of it at all?"

Heyes' face showed his grief. He sounded badly shaken, "Put me away? Commit me to an insane asylum? You really had to think about that? I was that bad? Oh Kid, I'm awful sorry I put you and Cat and Peggy through that. No, I don't remember it at all. The time when I couldn't understand – I know it happened, but I don't remember it. It's a blank and it's real fuzzy for a while after that. Kid, thank you for not putting me away! And now we're both being put away in the Pen. I sure hope somebody can get us out one day!"

"God Bless us, Heyes, 'cause it looks like there's nobody nearer to see we're alright," said the Kid. "'Cept our own selves."

"Amen, Kid," said Heyes. "I've got a lot of good friends who've looked after me, but only you've stayed with me through it all." The men locked eyes and reached out to touch each others' hands, but a voice from over their heads interrupted them.

"Come on along, boys!" yelled the head marshal as they drew up in front of the gold and brown brick façade of the Wyoming State Penitentiary. The boys could see at the sides of the building a pair of wood guard towers and high wooden walls guarding what they guessed was the prison yard. This would be their world. It looked so small! Heyes couldn't deny that, after all he had heard about his place, he was scared. He had talked to many an old jail bird, but he still didn't know how to handle himself in prison. He would have to figure it out, and so would the Kid.

The marshal climbed to the ground and called to them again, "Come on down here!" First the Kid jumped down from the wagon to the dusty ground, and then Heyes followed him. Heyes nearly fell, with his gimpy hip bothering him, but the Kid caught him.

The marshals kept a tight cordon around the pair of famous outlaws as they went in the heavy front door in the middle of the gold stone facade. They found themselves in a big front room whose walls were lined with guards standing at attention. They were heavily armed. A stout middle-aged man in a formal black suit said to the head marshal, "Thank you, Marshal Owens, for getting these dangerous men here safely. Our guards will take over now. I'll report to the governor on your good work getting Curry and Heyes here."

"Thank you, Warden," said the head marshal. "We have had no trouble with Heyes and Curry. None at all. I guess they meant it when they said they'd gone straight. But watch them carefully, all the same." Heyes thought the marshal sounded a bit sad. Why that would be, he wasn't sure. He would have thought relief would be more appropriate as the prisoners were safely delivered. The head marshal shook the hand of the warden, then turned and left the building with his fellow marshals in his wake. Just as the man was vanishing out the door, he looked back and caught Heyes' eye with a disconcertingly sorrowful glance. Heyes felt a shiver go down his spine. The Warden turned and went down a hall without even speaking to his new charges.

"Come this way!" said a guard, leading first the Kid and then Heyes down a long stone hallway in their chains. They made sure that there were several guards between the pair as they marched down the hall as if they were in the army. Heyes and the Kid stayed purposely out of step.

The guards took the Kid in one direction and Heyes in another. The partners shared a desperately worried look as they were parted, not knowing how much they would see each other after this. "Kid!" Heyes started to say and to reach toward his partner, but a guard jerked him off balance with his chain and struck him hard in the face. "Shut up! No speaking to one another!" Heyes touched his sore cheek where the man's ring had cut him. So it would be like that.

Heyes was led into a room with large black and white placards on the walls bearing a list of rules. "Can you read?" asked a guard.

Heyes, deeply insulted, said, "I'm just the diploma away from a master's degree from Columbia University! I'm qualified as a college professor!"

The guard stared in surprise and hostility at his new charge. "Just answer the questions – don't get uppity." the man said harshly. "If you read so good, you can read all these for yourself and memorize them. You'll live by them from now on. Silence is the rule around here unless you got a good reason."

Heyes read the boldly lettered rules. He took in the tight strictures of the world he would now inhabit. He learned that he would now be getting up at 5:50 AM every day except Sunday, and that he would change his underwear once a week and wash it when directed – not nearly often enough by his personal standards when he was in New York rather than on the trail. He learned that he would be unable to speak to the other men unless he asked permission of a guard. How could a man live without communication? The only rules he had ever lived by before were the liberal rules of Columbia University and his own rules. Now life would be far more regulated for sure. And far quieter.

A clerk standing by a desk called Heyes over to sign a paper. Heyes tried to read what he was signing, unsure of what it was and not wanting to agree to anything blindly. But even as Heyes began to read the close set lines of type outlining his agreement to live by the rules of the prison, the man said, "You've got no choice here. Just sign it! Now!" Heyes took up the pen. He hesitated for a moment. He hadn't actually signed his real name in years. He had to make sure that he didn't accidentally sign "Joshua Smith" instead of Hannibal Heyes. The clerk glared at him for the delay.

The clerk processing Heyes ordered, "Strip! Down to the skin. Now." Heyes obeyed unhappily. He hated to give up these last belongings that were his own. The cut on his cheek was still bleeding badly. His blood-stained formal clothing made a small pile that quickly vanished. Heyes kept only the case with his precious glasses. The guard said, "You can keep nothing of your own! What is that?"

"Those are my glasses. I need them to see distances!" answered Heyes defensively.

"Oh. Then you can keep them, I guess. But you won't have far to see here." The guard stared at Heyes. As used as he was to naked men with violent pasts, he looked surprised at Heyes' many scars.

A man in coveralls came with shears and cut off Heyes' long hair. Then he used a razor dipped in tepid water to shave the outlaw's face and scalp. Heyes bit his tongue and didn't utter a sound when blood was drawn by the swiftly moving blade. "You will stay clean while you are here!" declared the guard. "No lice!" Heyes bristled that anyone could assume he was that filthy when he obviously wasn't, despite what he had been through in jails recently. The man glanced uneasily at the dark diagonal scar on Heyes' left temple where the ricocheting bullet had struck him five and a half years before. It was now on display for all to see.

Then the man led Heyes to a shallow metal tub filled with rapidly cooling water. He handed Heyes a coarse sponge and a tub of soft brown soap and ordered him to wash himself thoroughly all over. He watched the prisoner with care, ordering him, "Get soap everywhere! We don't want you to bring any infection here from the jails where you've been." When he had seen Heyes comply – not a very comfortable procedure - the guard poured water over Heyes. The outlaw shivered. The rinse was not very effective and the water was pretty cold. Heyes could feel the harsh lye soap still stinging in certain intimate and sensitive places and where he had been cut.

A clerk handed Heyes a set of rough woolen drawers and a suit of coarse wool clothing with bold horizontal black and white stripes. It didn't fit well, but it didn't fall off. It was going to get horribly hot as summer came on, but cotton was more expensive than wool and this prison was nothing if not efficient. The distinctive striping would make escape impossible, at least without a change of clothing. There was a crude brimless hat to cover Heyes' bleeding scalp and make it hurt worse. The shoes and loose socks didn't fit well, either, promising blisters to come. But Heyes knew he couldn't complain about it. It was shaming to look so awful, but he had no time to worry over it. Before he left the room, the clerk handed Heyes a set of bedding, soap, and a candle. "Since you say you are literate, you can get reading materials, if you don't cause trouble. Listen to me, Mr. Heyes – don't cause trouble." The clerk looked Heyes hard in the eyes. Heyes nodded. He got the message.

Two guards marched Heyes out of the room and down the hall. He saw no sign of the Kid anywhere.

His guards took Heyes through a polished wooden door that stood out from the rough edge of the other architecture of the prison. A suited young man looked at him contemptuously and spoke to the guards as if Heyes could not understand English, "Bring him through. The warden will see him now. Make sure he's respectful."

Then Heyes went through into the warden's office. It was embarrassing to be in this elegantly decorated place confronting a well groomed man in a neat, formal suit, when Heyes himself was bleeding and beaten and dressed in the rough, unfamiliar prison uniform. It had been only a few days since Heyes had gone around New York in a tailored suit. He felt the terrible change in his fortunes keenly.

"Welcome to the Wyoming State Penitentiary, Mr. Heyes," said the warden, "You do not look pleased to be meeting up with justice at last. I hope that we can help you up out of the slough of dishonesty and ignorance into which you have fallen. Do you have anything to say?"

"Your guards are brutal," said Heyes, with his eyes blazing with fury and his voice hard. "I have done nothing to deserve this violence at their hands." He gestured to his bleeding cheek. "They struck me simply for speaking to my own partner!"

The warden was not fazed in the least. His spoke in the arrogant tones of someone who felt that he had the moral high ground. He was shocked that anyone would argue against striking a man for speaking. "Silence is enforced here to allow you reconsider your choices in life. Speaking out of turn is against the rules! Our guards are trained to deal effectively with violent criminals like yourself. To get along here you must learn discipline and order. If you disobey the rules, you will be punished. You will learn to take orders from your superiors. If you attempt to escape, you will be shot. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Heyes said, his resentment clear in his voice. He seriously doubted that anyone here was really his superior – at least intellectually, but he didn't expect the warden to share that view.

The warden looked at him with pity and what the man clearly perceived as mercy. That made Heyes more furious than ever. But not wanting to be perceived as a trouble maker or to court punishment, he did not dare to interrupt. This man would be in charge of his life for the coming days, weeks, and who knew how much longer. Perhaps decades, if there was no change in the position.

The warden gave his new prisoner a speech that sounded often rehearsed. Heyes doubted that the man had made many changes for his benefit besides inserting his name at the beginning. "Mr. Heyes, this is a place of rescue and redemption. We know that you and your fellow prisoners have led violent, undisciplined, ignorant lives before you came here. You must understand that we cannot allow you to live like that. You cannot continue to be violent, drunken, debouched and ignorant. You must learn upright and responsible ways. We will teach you that. Considering the charges against you, I doubt that you will ever leave here. Within these walls you will find a world fairer and more just than you have known outside. Knowing the brutality of your background, I understand that you have a lot to learn. I will be glad to meet with you frequently to help you on your way. I think I might be able to manage to meet with you every two weeks. We will schedule it. We will teach you patiently, but our patience is not boundless. You must do your best to pay attention and to obey. Good-bye for today. Send word to me if I can help in any way." The warden smiled condescendingly. Heyes wanted to kick the man in a place where it would really hurt.

Instead, Heyes thought he would just offer a little correct information. Heyes began to say, gently and as politely as he could, "Thank you. But Warden, you must not know . . ." But before Heyes could say more, the guards took his shoulders and steered him back in the direction from which he had come. The warden turned to his desk and ignored the man being led away. Heyes was incensed at being treated as a common, low, ignorant criminal. The warden was so sure that he was the one who could help, yet he would not even bother to learn about his charges. He clearly had no idea of the life Heyes had been leading, with his great academic record. Anyone who could earn two degrees, with honors, in four and a half years when most people took six working at full tilt was hardly undisciplined! And the warden actually thought he was being kind! From what Heyes and the Kid had heard, there was real brutality practiced here, far past the relatively mild blows he had yet experienced. Heyes wondered if the warden even knew what was done to his charges when he wasn't looking. The warden was the ignorant one!

But even as he fumed inwardly, two guards took Heyes to a long, echoing hall where there were three levels of cells. They went all the way across to the last cell on the bottom – the most airless - row. It was a tiny chamber behind a gate made of a grid of wide metal slats. The bare, whitewashed cell was almost entirely filled by a pair of crude bunk beds with the bedding folded up neatly at the foot of the lower bunk. Evidently it was already occupied while the top bunk would be Heyes'. There was also a single tiny desk and a bench. The only belongings he could see anywhere were a single copy of the Bible on the desk and an ink well, as well as a small basin of water, and the other man's soap and candle. Heyes noticed that the lid of the ink well was fused to the sides by old, dried ink. It had obviously not been used in some time.

The guard looked at Heyes in pity. "Welcome to cell block A, Heyes. Keep quiet and keep your nose clean and you might make it. But I doubt it, from what they say about you." Then he locked the cell door and marched away. He left Heyes utterly alone. Heyes hoped that his reputation wouldn't cause him too much trouble here, but he had the unpleasant feeling that it would.

Heyes could smell the unemptied chamber pot under the lower bunk. He held his nose and added to it, not having had opportunity to relieve himself since early morning. He had little water for washing, but was grateful to have soap.

The only light came through a window across the hall that gave a view only of the grey Wyoming sky. The air was hot and stale. Flies buzzed around.

Heyes was surprised to see no other men in the cell block, but he realized that they must be out working somewhere. Except for the ironically cheerful sound of barn swallows cheeping as they swooped outside, the place was utterly silent. Heyes took the Bible and climbed up to the top bunk and sat in shock. He didn't know what else to do. Despite the guards' exhortations to be clean, Heyes felt utterly filthy and debased. He had heard the word "dehumanizing" before. Now he knew what it meant. He had often been in jail, but never in prison. He could see that he had a lot to learn about this life.

Hearing nothing around him, not even the sounds of any patrolling guards, Heyes took a long chance. He shouted as loudly as he could "Kid?"

The sound echoed down the empty cell block. There was no answer. The Kid must be in the other cell block. Within what seemed only seconds, a guard – a different man than the one who had brought Heyes here - was at Heyes' cell door, opening it. The man was furious. "Get down here!" he yelled. Heyes complied as quickly as he could. The guard shouted at the top of his lungs, "No talking to each other! And absolutely no yelling! Mr. Johnson ain't going to take to you."

Heyes tried to ask "Who's Mr. J . . ," but before he could get the words out, the guard hit Heyes across the face, reopening the cut on his cheek. Heyes suppressed a gasp of pain.

The guard turned, locked the cell, and left. Heyes climbed back up to what he must now see as his own place – his bunk. He tried to read the Bible for a while, but he couldn't concentrate. Soon he heard the sound of men marching in the distance, with the occasional shout of a guard. The sounds got closer and closer. Then men were being marched into the cell block around him. Heyes jumped off of the top bunk and put the Bible back before his cell mate could return. The Bible might be personal property, although Heyes doubted that anything in this place could truly be considered personal. He gripped his glasses case like it was a precious thing. It was to him – his lone remaining belonging.

Heyes could smell sweat as the men came into the cell block. Obviously they had been at labor. A guard opened Heyes' cell and let in a skinny little man with graying brown hair. The man was surprised and frightened to see another man in his cell. Heyes supposed that having no cell mate was a luxury the man would miss.

When the guard was gone, Heyes' cell mate whispered softly, "I'm Bill Smith. You?"

"Heyes." The outlaw didn't dare to sound friendly – he kept his voice as soft and impassive as he could.

Bill Smith looked at him warily and questioningly. It was clear that he hadn't heard what Heyes had said. Heyes repeated, more loudly, "Heyes." There had been a low sound of whispering around the cell block. It instantly fell silent. Heyes guessed that they were listening and wondering what his first name might be – and maybe making accurate guesses at it.

Bill Smith shook his head and looked embarrassed. He still couldn't hear. "Heyes!" said the outlaw loudly. Now Smith nodded – he had heard that. It was strange – Smith spoke very quietly but was obviously deaf. He must be used to being totally unable to hear himself.

Heyes could hear a procession of whispers going around the cell block. He could hear questioning "Hannibal Heyes?" from cells around him. Then a guard came paroling by and all talk fell utterly silent. Heyes was shaken to realize how cowed his fellow prisoners were. He had been around a lot of criminals in his day and in a lot of jails. It was not until the guard was far gone that Heyes' cell mate spoke again, his voice very low. "First name?"

"Not that I use," said Heyes in clear, loud tones. Bill Smith shook his head again. "I don't use it!" Heyes almost shouted.

Smith nodded and looked puzzled. Obviously, the man was unable to hear any of the whispered gossip from the cells. So Bill Smith didn't realize who his new cell mate really was, while the other men in the block had already guessed.

Bill Smith climbed into his bunk and rested after what must have been a day of hard work. Heyes could smell his sweat. Heyes reached for the Bible, "Is it yours? Mind if I read?" he asked loudly.

Smith shook his head and looked fearfully toward the cell door. He whispered "I can't read."

"I could teach you," said Heyes. Men around him shushed Heyes. The smell of fear was everywhere.

Smith gazed at his roommate in amazement. He whispered, "You could?"

Heyes nodded and smiled to encourage his cell mate. If he could have the satisfaction of teaching, of improving someone's life, it might make this place almost endurable.

"No – I'm too stupid. Nobody can teach me," said Smith under his breath in shame

"I don't believe that! You just don't hear well." said Heyes slowly and clearly, "I'm a teacher. I would be glad to teach you," Smith smiled for just a brief moment, and then stopped as if the guards might hit him for smiling.

"Shh!" hissed down the cell block. Guards were coming. Heyes had never experienced anything like the intimidation that was rampant in this place.

Two guards came up to Heyes' cell and unlocked the door. A red-headed man glared at Heyes in fury. Heyes slide down to the floor and stood at attention. The guard said in a low but threatening voice, "I hear you've been having quite a conversation here, Heyes. You are offering to teach this dim-witted man to read, are you?" Heyes nodded. "Not only is that stupid; it is dangerous. Mr. Johnson, our kindly cell-block warden, don't like talking at all. Talking is against the rules. Teaching would be a lot of talking. You will stay quiet and leave your cell mate be or you will regret it."

Heyes nodded. He hoped that the warning would be all that he would get. But suddenly the guard struck him with a switch, right across the face, hard, again and again until the earlier cut opened and bled again profusely and the cheek around it felt bruised black and blue. As the guards locked the cell and stalked away the smell of fear was everywhere in the silence.

Soon, a bell rang out somewhere. Heyes could hear men getting out of their bunks all along the cell block. He guessed that this was dinner time. He dreaded to think what the food might be like, but he was hungry. He would have to eat it. He got up and stood ready next to Bill Smith by the door of their cell. Guards came and herded all of the men down the hall in the order of their cells. Soon they could smell food ahead. It didn't smell bad.

As the men jostled into the dining hall, Bill Smith whispered to the man ahead of him "I got a teacher in my cell! Gonna teach me to read!"

The man shook his head and grimaced, miming working a safe lock and pointing at Heyes.

Obviously in a place where talking was forbidden, sign language thrived. Bill Smith stared at his cell mate uneasily and with some angry. It was evidently occurring to him who the man might be. Smith assumed he had been lied to. That his cell mate might be both Hannibal Heyes and a teacher did not seem possible.

Then they got to the food. Each man picked up the dishes numbered for his cell and marched off to eat in his cell. The soup was thin with few vegetables and no meat. The paltry broth was evidently made from cheap salt pork that hadn't been soaked enough to get rid of the excess salt. Heyes was surprised to find that the bread was fresh and warm and delicious. It had obviously just been baked. It was the only good surprise Heyes had had in this prison. There just wasn't enough of the tasty bread. And, of course, there was no butter. The only drink was water. Heyes was starting to long for whiskey.

As they were marching in and out of the hall where they got their food, Heyes looked around anxiously to see if he could spot the Kid. But he couldn't see him anywhere. Not that he would have been easy to spot at a distance in this silent, anonymous crowd, with his golden curls cut away and wearing the same baggy clothes and brimless hat that everyone else wore.

After dinner Heyes lit his candle and tried again to read the Bible. He hoped to find a simple passage or two that he could use to start to teach his cell mate to read. He wasn't going to give up on that project, despite the chilly reception it was getting from the prison officials.

Heyes could smell tobacco faintly from other cells where some men were chewing and spitting. That was the one permitted luxury here, other than reading.

After a while, Heyes had to get up and relieve himself. Then Bill Smith did the same. It was horrible to have to do this in front of one another. But there was no help for it. Heyes could hear and smell men all over the cell block doing the same. At least Smith had the decency to turn his head.

After a nasty, smelly hour or two, guards came around with a big stinking bucket into which they emptied the chamber pots. They rinsed out the pots with not enough water. By the time the bucket got to the very last cell where Heyes was, the smell from the bucket was almost unendurable.

Heyes lay in his hard, thin bunk. He wondered how the Kid was doing. He supposed his partner was enduring much the same dispiriting, dehumanizing routines he was enduring, but he wished that he could know the details. It was very strange to lie there with another man in the bunk just below and to be unable even to speak to the man without fear of punishment.

"Heyes!" called a voice from a nearby cell, when the patrolling guards were at their farthest away.

"Yeah?" answered Heyes warily.

"It's Harry Wagoner. Remember me?"

Heyes kept his voice low and cautious. Harry's cell had to be very close – up one row he guessed. "Yeah, Harry. How are you?"

"How do you think? You and the Kid put me here!" The man's fury had not abated after six years. Harry wasn't well suited to this contemplative mode of prison. Considering the surroundings, frankly Heyes didn't blame Harry for being angry. Though, of course, he did blame Harry for kidnapping the Kid and forcing Heyes to rob a bank in the first place.

"Shh!" hissed along the corridors. The guard was coming back. Then Heyes heard Harry howling as he got his comeuppance from the guards.

"Oh great!" thought Heyes. "What a jolly cell block mate Harry's gonna be. He's never grown a lick of sense. By now he should have learned to shut his mouth. I wonder how many other old 'friends' I'm gonna find here. And how many more times I'm gonna get hit by those guards."

Heyes also wondered what would happen now that the men around him knew without a doubt who he was. A man would have to have been put away for a long, long time not to have heard of Hannibal Heyes. It had been twenty-three years since Heyes had begun practicing his old, dishonest trade. It hadn't taken him very long to get his name know in all the wrong ways.

As it grew dark, the exhausted men around Heyes fell asleep. He could hear their snoring. Heyes, who had not spent the day laboring as his fellow prisoners had, lay awake for a long time. He ached in all the places where he had been hit and cut. He grieved for his lost freedom. He missed his partner, his lover, his friends, and his dreams for the future. He missed the scholarly satisfaction of his days. He missed the ability to get out and do what he pleased –when he decided that he had time to do so. He missed his honest pride in his accomplishments. He missed being respected. He missed being good at things that mattered to the wider world outside the prison walls.

And yet, Heyes wasn't nearly as upset as he had thought that he would be. Rather than grieving, he was giving more and more of his mind to a series of mysteries that had been bothering him all day.

Most pressingly, he worried about the level of cowed obedience he saw around him. This was not normal from hardened violent criminals like those Heyes had come to know so well over the years. The unpleasant but not really serious blows Heyes had endured so far were nothing like bad enough to explain it. No, something much worse was lurking that frightened these undisciplined men. This fear and silence came from a much deeper and more serious threat from which even the most violent men recoiled. Heyes was beginning to suspect that the mysterious cell block warden, Mr. Johnson, had something to do with it. He could only hope that, in the other cell block, the Kid would be safe from that threat.

And there was the unjustness of Heyes' own and his partner's confinement. The senator and the governors knew perfectly well that Heyes and the Kid did not need the crude level of "teaching" and "redemption" that were on offer at this prison. If allowed to remain free, the pair could have offered a great deal of good to society with their law enforcement and teaching talents. Why, logically, would even the most selfish politicians condone the confinement of useful men posing no threat to society in such a place? It was a terrible, unconscionable waste.

And now that he knew what Senator Warren had said in his telegram to the Kid, Heyes had a new twist on these mysteries that combined the two. Warren was obviously truly worried that Heyes, at least, would do away with himself in this prison. And by asking the Kid to watch Heyes so carefully, of course Warren was also giving protection to the loyal Kid by intrusting him with a mission. Why would Warren worry that this place would be so terrible that it would make men kill themselves? Heyes had met nothing that bad thus far. It was unpleasant, but not unendurable. Whatever the answer to the first question about the fear in this place was, Warren seemed to have some knowledge of it.

Yet why did it matter if two men killed themselves, if they had been consigned to a Hell from which they would never be redeemed? Valuing men and simultaneously throwing them away posed a senseless contradiction that went beyond what the most excessive political expediency could explain. Perhaps there was a disagreement between the senator and at least one of the four governors? How would it be resolved – or had it already been? Had things changed between the politicians since the telegrams had been sent? Was the exhortation never to give up no longer valid? Or was it more valid than ever?

With those worries chasing themselves in his sore, shaved head, Heyes finally fell asleep.


	55. Chapter 55

"Dean, the way I see it, I can give your students a practical understanding of how to use math in their real lives. I know my use of math wasn't very legal or moral at first, but it has been for the past seven years." The young dean listened intently as Heyes was animatedly explaining his ideas for teaching. The dean's new western school needed a junior professor of mathematics and he thought he had found his man.

The dean nodded and smiled, "I see what you mean, Heyes. I think our students would find that very exciting. They would sure pay attention in class! And with your wife teaching . . ."

A bugle sounded shrilly in the pale light barely after dawn. Heyes jerked awake, striking his bare head violently on the ceiling of his cell. He stifled a curse, remembering with a start where he was.

"Heyes!" whispered his cell-mate, Smith, peering into the upper bunk. "Fold up your bedding - fast! Guards are coming!" Heyes stared stupidly at the man for a moment, blinking. Silver stars were still darting in front of his eyes from the blow he had taken. The transition from his dream to waking was a painfully one in more ways than one. It seemed as if only in dreams would he ever teach college mathematics or be married to Beth Warren. He had long feared that his plans for the future would prove fragile compared with the might of the law. But to actually have all of his and Beth's hopes crushed was still a shock from which he would be reeling for a long time.

Soon the guards came by to check the cells and take the prisoners to pick up their breakfasts. Heyes was glad that Smith had reminded him about folding up his bedding – he had only just finished in time for the inspecting guard to see that all was as it should be. Heyes snuck a nod of thanks to Smith. The guards marched Heyes and Smith and their cell block mates off to pick up their breakfast dishes filled with steaming potato hash.

As Heyes passed his fellow prisoners in the breakfast line, he looked again for the Kid, but saw no sign of him. He supposed that the men from the two cell blocks were kept separate for all meals. As Heyes studied his fellow prisoners, he speculated that they must include horse thieves, cattle rustlers, hold up men, gunmen, or less savory criminals even than that. But which man was guilty of which transgression, he would likely never know. Heyes had heard often enough from friends out of prison that there were two questions you didn't ask a man inside – what he had done to wind up there, or if he was really guilty. After all, one could hardly expect a rapist or child abuser to admit it to someone who had no authority over him. If you did ask him, he would just lie. And he might not be real pleased with the question.

Heyes was not sure that he was happy having anyone know who he was or what he had done, either. In the criminal world outside of prison, Heyes' status as a gang leader of bank and train robbers had accorded him considerable respect. In here, he didn't know what men would think of him or do about it. They might easily hate him for his fame and the big money he and the Kid had once brought in.

After breakfast the guards came around and got Heyes and his cell mate, and took them down the walkway. They went to the prison workshop that was between the two cell blocks. This was a room where prisoners were at work on various tasks needed to keep the place running. Heyes was shown how to crank a clothes washing machine. Right across from him was a smaller machine that was cranked by a skinny, lithe boy who looked hardly more than twelve. His baggy prison clothes, far too big for him, made him look even smaller. The pants were rolled up and the sleeves were cut off short to allow him to work safely. The boy looked curiously at the much older man opposite him, but said nothing as he dutifully got his machine prepared for work and loaded clothes into it. He had obviously done this work before. The boy showed Heyes how the machine worked, and how to put a quick hand inside if the clothes threatened to tangle and tear. As they began to crank, Heyes could tell that this would be monotonous work, but not heavy. Yet he supposed his arms would be sore by lunch time. It would take time for his muscles to harden to repetitive labor.

Once the guard watching the room had gone to look after other men who were using a mangle to wring out wet clothes, Heyes put out a hand to the boy. "I'm Heyes. You?"

The boy introduced himself, "Mosley." Mosley took Heyes' hand, a quick grin indicating how pleased he was to be addressed as an equal by so much older a man. The boy didn't show any signs of realizing the infamy or fame attached to his work partner, for which Heyes was grateful. Maybe the boy assumed the name was the sound-alike Hayes. Or maybe the youngster was too young to even know the more famous name.

Once they had met, the boy turned his attention to cranking efficiently. Heyes was distressed by how young the boy was. He hated to think what the youngster had done to be imprisoned so early in life and what the boy's future might be like. He himself had gone bad at fifteen. Hard as he and the Kid had tried to go straight, they had never escaped their evil fate. Now it seemed that they never would. He thought this boy might be even younger than he had been, although perhaps older than Jed had been. But they hadn't gone to prison as this lad had. It didn't bode well for Mosley.

When Heyes and Mosley each had a good routine going on his respective machine, the boy spoke to Heyes under cover of the few seconds on each turn of the crank when the machines made the loudest swishing sounds. Heyes followed the boy's lead. The oddly matched pair kept their words brief and paused during the quieter parts of their machines' work or when the guard came by and was watching and listening. This was the first chance Heyes had had since he arrived to have a real conservation with anyone. Despite the intense emotional stress of being put into prison, intellectually it was incredibly dull by comparison with grad school. It was nice to have a little human stimulation other than being ordered about, condescended to, threatened, and beaten.

"How long you been in?" asked the boy. Heyes' shaved head and his unfamiliarity with procedures like clothes washing gave away that the time wasn't long.

"One day," answered Heyes briefly.

The boy grinned. "Thought so." His own very short trimmed hair suggested that he was no great prison veteran himself.

"You?" asked Heyes.

"Week."

Heyes nodded. Judging from his knowledge of how to safely manage a conversation here, the boy learned fast. Maybe too fast – there were bad things taught here. Heyes asked, "How old are you, son?"

"Ain't your son," Mosley said resentfully.

"No offense."

"None taken . . . 15."

"Really?" Heyes was skeptical. Boys about that age were very apt to lie themselves into being older, especially in situations when they were thrown in with men. Heyes had done it himself when he and the Kid had first run away from the home for waywards and started to associate with outlaws.

"Well, almost. . . You?"

Heyes hid a smile at the innocent question. Not many people asked a grown man how old he was, especially in a place like this. He said, "38." To Mosley, it must seem a big number – far more than twice his own age.

"Wife? Kids?"

"No . . .Hard on the run." Even being asked the question hurt. Heyes had so wanted to marry Beth and have children with her.

"What you in for?"

"You know better!" Heyes darted a warning glance at young Mosley.

"Sorry. . . No offense."

"None taken."

They cranked in silence for a few minutes. The guard walked by and stared at Heyes and Mosley. They were all innocence and dutiful labor.

"Pick pocket," the boy volunteered, hoping to lure his neighbor into saying more about himself.

"Could've guessed. . . Quick hands." The boy reached into the tub deftly to stave off tangles. Heyes thought that those clever hand could have been used for so many better things – playing music – writing. The Heyes reached into his own machine and got his hand out in time to avoid injury.

"You, too . . . You play cards?"

"Sure. . . outside."

"How good?"

"Ha! . . . One answer – not very."

"That's a lie."

"It is." Heyes winked at the boy.

"Teach me?"

"Not in here."

"When we're out?"

"A hot time!" There was a bitter edge to Heyes' voice.

"Huh?"

"In Hell, boy."

"Oh - sorry." Mosley looked down and away, genuinely regretful to have reminded his new friend of his awful fate.

They worked in silence for a while. The guard came by again and again found two innocent, silently working prisoners. When the man was gone, the boy tried again, "Life?"

"Same as," said Heyes, looking at the floor.

There was a pause while they worked silently and the guard, who was starting to suspect where the soft whispering was coming from, came by and stared at them.

When he was gone Mosley pressed Heyes again, "What d'you mean?"

"20 years . . . who'd live that here? . . . if I did . . . there's 42 more . . ."

"42 years?"

"Charges."

"Wow! . . . What?"

"Boy!" Heyes pretended to be more annoyed than he really was.

"Sorry."

They worked steadily for a while. Then Heyes took pity on his curious work partner who insisted on asking the questions that no one should ask in prison.

"Armed robbery. . . for starters."

"What else?"

"Jail break . . . Etcetera."

"Et what?"

"Etcetera. . . Latin . . . 'and so on.'"

"You speak Latin?" The boy was impressed.

Heyes shrugged just slightly. "A little . . . picked it up . . . here and there."

"What kind'a robbery?"

"That again?"

"Yeah . . . Stagecoach?"

"No."

"Store?"

"No."

"Hold up?"

"No."

The boy seemed excited to finally get up the nerve to ask, "Bank?"

Heyes hated to answer, but he wouldn't lie to his young friend. There was no point. Heyes nodded.

"Wow! I kind of keep track of bank robberies, or I used to – outside." This long, enthusiastic speech wandered into the machines' quieter period and got a glare and a threatening gesture from a guard. But the man was one of the better ones; he took pity and didn't strike the boy.

When the guard was well past Mosley started in again. "What bank?"

Heyes sighed. The boy was as bad as Tom O'Keeffe. "Lots."

"Yeah but which?"

"You wouldn't know . . . Too long ago."

"You stopped?"

"Yeah."

"Try me! . . .Which one . . . got you here?"

"Blackfork - merchants."

The boy stared at him hard. "Near my town," he said. Then, after a long pause he asked, in a low, intense voice, "When?"

Heyes guessed that the boy would know every gang who had ever struck the bank or tried to. He said, reluctantly, "'83."

"No! . . . Devil's Hole?!"

"Quiet, boy!" Heyes looked warily around to make sure that none of the other working prisoners had heard Mosley say that. Everyone seemed to know that Hannibal Heyes was there, but since he had been hidden in his cell when the word got out, they might not have linked up the name and the face. He wasn't eager for that to happen. Inevitably it would, but Heyes wanted the day delayed as long as possible.

They just washed clothes for a while. The guard left and a different one came in.

Heyes stopped and loaded in a new bunch of clothing, copying the way he had seen young Mosley do it.

"What did you do?"

"Told you – robbery!"

"But what part? . . . Guns? . . . Get away?"

Heyes exhaled in resignation. Telling this would be telling his name plainly to this boy, who sure wouldn't keep it to himself. But everyone would know soon enough anyway, despite the enforced silence in most aspects of this place. Confined men talked. Heyes knew that from the many jails he had been in and out of. "Planning. . . .Discipline. . . Box work . . . you know?" Mosley shook his head. "Safes."

During this recitation the boy's eyes got bigger and bigger and his swift hands slowed for a moment, forcing Heyes' hands to slow as well. "No! . . . You ain't him!"

"Told you . . . my name." Heyes looked away from the boy, ashamed at his past.

"Golly! . . . Shake hands . . . Mr. Heyes?"

"Short memory . . . already did."

"I didn't know . . . then. . . The Kid in?"

"Yeah. . . Other block."

"Too bad."

"Yeah."

"How'd they get you?"

"You got nerve," Heyes, but without rancor. The boy needed to learn to be careful about such questions if was to live long in such a place, or at least avoid coming to blows. But Heyes couldn't manage to really be mad at him. He was just so young.

"Sorry," said Mosley.

Heyes thought back bitterly to those recent days and their disappointing results. "Jed spoke . . . at my trial . . . murder . . . nabbed us . . . end of it."

"Murder?!"

"Self-defense."

The boy nodded. Everyone knew that Hannibal Heyes would never murder anyone. "How'd they . . . get you . . . into court?"

Heyes shook his head. "Complicated."

"I got time."

"Not for that. . ." Heyes gave Mosley a warning look.

"Aw, come on, Heyes, tell me . . ." The boy was starved for stories.

A guard had been listening to the conversation and he finally took action. Before Heyes could warn the lad , the guard came along behind the boy and struck him hard across the back. The boy fell and only Heyes' quick hands kept his head from striking the floor. Mosley, embarrassed, stood up again quickly and waved off his new friend's help.

The red-headed guard growled, "Don't interfere, Heyes!" He went to hit the boy again, this time with a long wooden switch that was kept on a high peg on the wall for just this purpose. Heyes grabbed at it and stopped the blow. After all that the outlaw had been through from cruel people in authority in the past week, when he saw a large grown man abusing a helpless boy, something just snapped in him. He angrily pulled the switch from the guard's hand and threw it to the floor. He stood ready for what would come to him for this, his eyes ablaze.

Two other guards ran up, yelling at Heyes in frantic fury. Heyes gave in suddenly. He wasn't a big enough fool to resist. He stood still as they grabbed his arms while the red-head clapped irons onto his wrists and ankles. Then they led Heyes away rapidly, forcing him to stumble and trip. They hauled the fallen man along the floor bruisingly as he scrambled, unable to regain his feet. They man-handled Heyes back to his own cell block. But they put him in a different cell. This cell had no bars on the front – only a solid wooden door. No light got through.

Heyes was in solitary confinement. How long it would last, he had no idea. He also had no way of knowing what other punishment might come his way. It was hot and the stinking air was horribly still. He lay down on the thin, foul mattress on the floor and tried to go to sleep. He might as well – he sure couldn't read or teach or do any other worthwhile thing. A bug scuttled over his cheek. Heyes swatted it away and sat up against the wall with a shiver. He hadn't been able to tell what it was – something just nasty, or something that might sting.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Curry!" came a whisper from the next man bent over weeding the prison yard.

"Yeah?" the Kid answered in just as low a whisper. Hard as it was to communicate here, he was already starting to be part of the cautious network of whispered intelligence that ran from cell to cell or from man to man when they worked outside. The man who was weeding nearest to Curry, Crum, was also the lone occupant of the cell next door to his. Crum seemed to know everything that happened at the Pen. Curry suspected that he had friends among the guards. Crum had been here for a long time and learned how to survive.

"New man in solitary in the other block. Just got here, same day you did, and fool's already behind the door," said Crum. Somehow, the man got away with talking more than any man Curry had seen here, but he never got punished.

"Oh?" said the Kid neutrally. He didn't want anyone to think he cared too much. It would leave him vulnerable. But he knew the man in solitary had to be Heyes. He was the only man he knew of who had arrived on the same day that the Kid had. And who else would be in trouble that fast, other than Curry himself? "What'd he do?"

A guard patrolled across the grounds and the prisoners fell silent. Curry, with the guidance of his cell block mates, was starting to get a feel for which guards were decent and which weren't. This one – a tall, dark haired young man called Horton – wasn't brutal; but he wasn't indulgent, either.

When the guard had passed, Crum answered, "Tried to stop a guard from hitting the youngest boy here. Sound like Heyes?"

"Maybe." The Kid scratched his shaven head under the itchy wood cap. At least it kept the beating sun off of his pale, newly exposed scalp.

"Dark stubble, dark eyes, big scar on the left side of his head. Already got a cut on his face from sassing the guards."

"Yeah, that's Heyes," snorted Curry. Outside, Curry had been the more likely one to help someone even at the risk of his own safety. But here, he was more cautious.

"That kind'a foolishness won't impress Johnson!" scoffed Crum.

"Johnson?" The Kid hadn't heard the name before.

"Cell block warden across the way. Our guy Harrison – no pushover. You get what you deserve with him. But Johnson?" Crum stopped while the guard passed by again, pausing to listen to the two men. They clamped their lips shut. This kind of talk was particularly dangerous. Curry waited until the guard was good and far away before he asked Crum for more information about Johnson. "What about him?"

Crum looked around cautiously before he spoke in the lowest possible whisper. "Guys die over there. I know. Used to be there."

The two men fell silent again while the guard passed and passed again. The Kid was in agony of worry about his partner. He knew all too well that he could do nothing to help Heyes. But he had to know what Crum was talking about.

"Ain't murder illegal here, too?" Curry asked at last, trying to keep his whisper casual.

Even at the level of a whisper, the Kid could hear the dread in Crum's voice. "Yeah, but they ain't murdered."

"Huh?"

"Mr. J. likes the whip, but not bad enough to kill, not never."

"So what happens?" asked the Kid, after checking yet again that no one could overhear them.

Crum waited a long time, looking up at the rifle toting guards in the towers that stood over the high wooden fence of the yard as if he suspected they could hear him, though that was impossible. Finally he whispered again, "Guys just die. Don't wake up one morning. Or choke on something. Or go to hospital hurt or sick and go out in a pine box. Or they go out to the rail yard and don't come back. But just the guys Johnson don't like."

The guard passed again. Curry was sweating in fear for his partner.

Curry asked anxiously, "The warden don't stop it?"

Crum shook his head. "He's new. Ain't figured it out yet."

"Any way to get word to man in solitary?"

"No."

"How d'you know he's in?" The Kid wondered if the rumors were really accurate.

"Guy down the way heard from a man was in the workshop when it happened. Saw Heyes grab the switch, and then saw 'em drag him off. That's a solitary offense."

"How long?"

Crum shrugged. "First offense, one day, maybe? But when Heyes gets out, he'd better be damned careful."

The guards seemed to suspect that something was going on between Curry and Crum, because they hovered around near the two men after that. So no more information was passed between them. They just crawled across the dirt and pulled weeds and put them in bags. The men sweated in the hot sun in their heavy striped uniforms. And the Kid worried. But nothing seemed to bother Crum.

As they went back to the cell block to get supper, Crum was last in line. He lagged a bit behind the other men. A guard came close alongside him. He whispered something to the burly old prisoner. Something got passed from the guard to Crum, and quickly hidden inside his baggy uniform. Curry, up ahead, didn't see his friend nod his thanks and then shuffle away from the guard.

Finally, they went to get super, and then to bed in their cells. Some smoked or chewed. Some read. A few whispers were heard here and there. Curry wondered what Heyes was going through in the dark all alone. For himself, the Kid felt that he was making it alright. He wasn't stupid enough to stick his neck out and get into trouble. He had never dreamed as big as Heyes had.

Yet, that night, lying on his thin bunk in the dark with his cell mate on the lower bunk chewing tobacco and spitting, the Kid felt awful lonely. He was missing Cat so bad and worrying about the coming baby. It was hard on Curry. It was terribly hard. When would he get a letter from Cat? It was bad, not being able to communicate with the woman he loved. It was agonizing to be cut off from everyone he cared about in the world – including his partner.

The Kid wished he could tell Heyes that his partner was alright. And he wished he could tell Heyes to be more careful. His partner should know that, but sometimes, as the Kid had told him before, his older cousin didn't have the sense that God gave geese.

Late that night, while Curry snored fitfully, Crum was awake all alone in the cell next door. He sucked greedily on a flask of whiskey. He lifted the flask up in a nearly silent toast, "To kindly Mr. J. Good man to work for, bad man to cross." He was lying down and in the darkness, he smiled.


	56. Chapter 56

Heyes soon got up off the dank mattress on the floor. He couldn't sleep and lying there was just nasty and dull. He didn't know how long he would be in the dark solitary cell, but he couldn't sleep through it all. He would have to be ready for what would come next. He was betting it would be far more demanding than cranking a washing machine.

So Heyes began to pace. He heard little in his dark hours except for his own soft, repetitive footfalls. He had taken off the heavy, ill-fitting shoes that had been giving him painful blisters. But it had taken some time to try to clear away the grit of former prisoners' crummy bread so we wouldn't have to crunch through it. It surprised him to find such dirt in this place that was otherwise kept admirably clean. He had no means of getting rid of the crumbs other than pushing them to the edge of the cell with his hands. There was a sill by the door, so he couldn't get rid of the crumbs no matter how much he tried.

When the crumbs were reasonably clear, and his mattress was rolled out of the way, he went back to pacing. He had to steel himself to ignore the scuttling of countless bugs that had gathered to feed on the crumbs. They were impossible to identify in the darkness. Heyes had dealt with vast numbers of bugs in the West as well as in New York, but usually only ones he could see, and not in bare feet. As he crossed and recrossed and recrossed the cell his feet crushed insects. Eventually, he just ignored the crackling little shells and the sticky blood. Like the whole experience, it wasn't nice, but he could deal with it.

As he walked back and forth, Heyes' ears strained to catch the subdued sounds of the prison day, muffled by the walls around him and the heavy wooden door. Early in his confinement, Heyes heard the men coming from their various tasks to get their dinner. Heyes, already very hungry, could smell the stew and freshly baked bread but not taste it. No one brought him anything. He could hear the soft metallic clatter of spoons on ceramic soup bowls. His stomach growled. Later, Heyes heard the men marched off in various directions to their tasks for the afternoon.

Then the place fell silent and stayed that way for hour upon hour upon hour. The only interruptions in the silence were two times when Heyes could just barely hear guards walking back and forth on errands.

Otherwise Heyes heard only the soft sounds of his own pacing and the tiny, distant twitter of the barn swallows swooping outside the windows. Heyes could picture the little blue and orange birds swooping effortlessly through the air to catch their insect meals. He wished he had some birds in his cell! Even if they couldn't catch earth-bound bugs, they would have been cheerful company.

Heyes hoped that he would be out the next day, but it hardly mattered. As he settled in to this place, one day would be very like the next. He wondered what his tasks would be when he did get out, and the day after that and the day after that, on into a future he did not really care to realistically imagine. Well, he had brought this on himself – both the stretch in solitary and the larger confinement were his own fault without a doubt.

Heyes silently berated himself. How could he have been such a fool as to rise to the bait of that brutal guard striking young Mosley!? His momentary interruption of the punishment would not make any ultimate difference to Mosley. He was sure that after the guards had dragged him away, the boy had been beaten just as much, if not more, than he would have been anyway. How stupid he was to have lost his temper! The Kid said his partner had no common sense. Heyes guessed he was right. The former safecracker wondered, for the thousandth time, how his partner was making it in prison and what he was doing. Heyes just hoped that his own foolishness would not be used against Curry, who might well have enough of his own troubles.

Heyes would have to do better in future when confronting the senseless brutality that would be a daily part of the rest of his life. It was ironic – as a thief he had fought against the violence of the West. Now he was supposed to be in a place that corrected violence – and instead it was more violent than anything that Heyes had ever permitted in the Devil's Hole Gang.

Heyes sighed and paced on. He would certainly have plenty of future opportunities to practice the discipline of being angry and yet doing nothing. Now there was a noble discipline for you! Paying more attention to what was inside his head than what was outside of his body, he inadvertently slammed into a cell wall. "Ow!" the outlaw cried involuntarily and rubbed his sore nose.

"Shut up in there, you filth! There're worse things than solitary, you know! You want to hang by your thumbs for a while?" yelled a guard who sounded close outside the cell.

Heyes thumbed his nose at the man in the darkness. Solitary confinement carried its own little privileges – including the freedom to make rude gestures and not be punished for them. Heyes smiled but was careful not to laugh. Goodness only knows what that would fetch him!

But as Heyes went back to his pacing, he began to look past the moment to moment problems of being imprisoned. What would it mean if he became the perfect square peg in a square hole? If he silently and thoughtlessly did as he was told and never complained or did anything dangerous day after day after day, what would it be like? What would it do to him? What would it do to or for the men around him? To Heyes, a future of knuckling under to cruelty and injustice seemed far, far worse than any conceivable punishment or even death. Heyes stopped and considered this carefully. He and the Kid had sacrificed a lot to go straight. To Heyes, going straight didn't mean just following the law and the various rules around him. It meant doing the right thing. Not the easy thing – the right thing.

Heyes stopped his feet and pushed his mind forward. He decided then and there, in the damp, buggy darkness, how he would conduct himself henceforth. He made up his mind that he would not go out of his way to court trouble. He would try to be sensible and not bring any unwarranted punishment down on himself and his fellow prisoners. But when he saw serious offences around him, he would not hesitate to point them out and do what he could about them. He didn't doubt that this would fetch him considerably worse punishment than solitary confinement. Being famous, and having at least some possibility of attention from powerful politicians, could give him some power. The other prisoners here were powerless pawns. If Hannibal Heyes wound up being badly and blatantly mistreated or even killed, the word might get out. And if it did, the abuses of this place might come to light. And that might make some improvement for the other prisoners here – maybe even including the Kid. There were worse things to die for than the improvement of the lives of his fellow men, even if they were his fellow criminals.

Heyes' mistreatment or death would hurt Beth very badly. Yet it seemed to Heyes that if Beth knew that he had given in and done the easy thing, that would really hurt her worse. She loved him – not some dull, senseless automaton. She would want him to do what he felt was right. For just a moment, Heyes almost felt as if Beth was with him there, putting her arms around him and saying that she loved him and believed in him. He blinked hard as he thought that this touch in imagination, and perhaps a rare brief letter subject to the Warden's scrutiny, might be the only contact he would ever have with his love ever again.

With that decision made, Heyes took a deep breath and went back to his pacing. He had been fighting every second in prison to figure out who he was now. He had been trying desperately to figure out how to think and be. Now he felt better – more like himself. Now he had a plan.

Heyes now turned to working complex mathematical equations in his head. He was not going to let his brain go to mush in this place. He would not let them reduce him that much – at least not without a fight.

"Heyes!"

The outlaw jumped at the voice that suddenly called into his dark and silent place. His head had been full of voices, but the air around him had been silent. A tiny bit of light stabbed into the dark cell as a tray was pushed in the small covered opening at the bottom of the door. Brief and dim as the light was, it hurt Heyes' eyes, which had become accustomed to total darkness. He reached to find out what had been shoved in. He could feel a pewter plate of dry, day-old bread and a heavy ceramic mug of tepid water. Heyes ate hungrily. He had to drink to choke down the stale bread. His throat was dry from hours with little to drink. There had been only a single mug of water for him to drink before this, and that he hadn't finished because he had found bugs at the bottom. He had been confined since just before noon and so had missed the largest meal of the day. The meager bread and water dinner was not nearly enough to satisfy him. But it was all he would get.

An hour later, a guard reached in the low opening to get the empty dishes and to empty the chamber pot. Heyes was glad to have the stink reduced as he tried to settle himself for the night. Would there be rats? There hadn't been yet, but he would be listening for them.

Heyes continued pacing for a while, steadily working mathematical equations. Growing frustrated with this, he turned to silently reciting scenes from some of his favorite plays. Hamlet came particularly to mind. Act II Scene II, when Rosencrantz and Guildenstern greeted the prince of Denmark was most appropriate in Heyes' mind. Hamlet asks his old friends for the news and when Rosencrantz said that the world had grown honest, Hamlet angrily replied that their news was not true and he asked them, "What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of Fortune that she sends you to prison hither?"

Guildenstern (Heyes remembered the edition he knew abbreviated the name to Guild.) replied, "Prison, my Lord?" and Hamlet answered, "Denmark's a prison." Heyes smiled in the darkness – this prison was a veritable Denmark, and he wondered if murder would be done here as it had been in the bard's Denmark so repeatedly. Hamlet's reply – Heyes couldn't remember which of the two friends it was who spoke - when his friends denied Denmark's status as a prison was another speech that Heyes recalled thoughtfully. He wondered what use he could make of it here, "Why, then, 'tis none to you, for there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison." Heyes wondered to what extent he could, by thinking, make this place not a prison. Perhaps the powers of his mind could free him for a few minutes or hours at a time – especially at night. That might enable him to keep his sanity and some sense of purpose.

But then Hamlet, told that Denmark seemed a prison because it was "too narrow for your mind," replied in a line that Heyes thought might haunt him far into the future. Especially it troubled him as he stood alone in the darkness, feeling worn out and knowing that he must sleep eventually. He recited it in his head and felt the force of the threat: "Oh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space were it not that I have bad dreams." Wherever the outlaw grad student's mind could wander, so long as he remained sane, the truth would seek him out. He could not escape his punishment. He would always wind up back here, curled up on a thin mattress laid over cold stone among the bugs and the rats.

Finally, he slept. And the bad dreams pursued him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes heard the bugle sounding out in the world of the prison. The sun must be rising - for those who could see it. Not long afterward, the opening at the bottom the cell's door rattled. Heyes covered his eyes in preparation for having it open and let in a painful beam of light. Once perfect darkness had returned, the confined man felt beneath his fingers a breakfast precisely similar to his dinner of stale, dry bread and water.

Soon after Heyes had finished eating, he heard a shout outside. "Heyes! Step back!" He took the advice, and covered his eyes. He was right – they were opening his door.

"Come out here!" shouted a guard. Heyes stumbled blindly to his feet. One of his legs had fallen asleep on the hard floor. He blinked in the dim but painful light. The guards fastened manacles and leg irons onto him. "You're coming out to do a job of work, boy. No more light stuff in the workshop."

Heyes was chained to make one of a line of men – a chain gang. Guards marched them out to the prison yard, surrounded by the brick of the prison building and a high wooden fence. Then the massive, iron-bound wooden gate opened. Heyes and the other men looked out, excited to see something beyond the walls that normally bounded their world. Surrounded by guards on foot and on horseback, the chain gang walked out across the neighboring hills with shuffling steps restricted by their leg irons and chains. They could see the main part of Laramie across the river not too far away. Soon there were curious locals standing around on more distant hills, watching them. For once, Heyes was glad of the anonymous black and white striped uniform.

For a man who had been confined to a very tight space for the last twenty hours, it seemed a long way to where they were going. No one, of course, thought to tell the prisoners what was planned for them. Heyes thought that his fellow prisoners were a bit uneasy about the outing. Their body language and sour grunts told him that they weren't looking forward to whatever the work would be. They had done it before, although they couldn't tell Heyes what it was. It was great to be able to see some sights outside the walls and to feel a fresh breeze on his face. Yet Heyes felt paranoid about the adventure. Normally, getting to go outside of prison walls was, he had heard from his jailbird friends, a special privilege. Heyes had not earned any privileges. Something was sure to be awaiting him that would offset the gift of getting to set foot outside.

Soon, they came over a hill and crossed a bridge over the Laramie River toward the city of Laramie. Surely they weren't going into town? Of course, it was not so. Instead, they went to work on the extensive rail yard.

Most of the men were set to carrying things - the heavy steel rails and massive ties, whether old shattered ones to be replaced, or the new ones to replace them. There were guards everywhere on foot and one horseback, with rifles trained on the prisoners. Few regular rail road employees were allowed anywhere near the prisoners.

But for Heyes there was different work. A snarling red-headed guard led Heyes to where the rails and ties were being assembled at the end of the line being renovated. They secured Heyes' leg irons to chains so his arms were free but he could not escape. Another guard handed him an enormous hammer. He would be driving the large iron spikes that went through iron plates to bind rails to ties. Heyes had seen men doing this often in the west as railroads expanded. This was some of the heaviest work on a railroad. It was usually done by men who exceeded six feet and were well over two hundred pounds. To ask Heyes, who was a bit less than six feet and, after the stresses of the recent weeks, had been reduced to less than 150 pounds, to wield this hammer was stupidly impractical. He would have complained if he had dared. Obviously, efficient work was not the idea. Punishment was.

A regular spike driver who was not a prisoner came and demonstrated how Heyes should wield the heavy, yard-long hammer. The bare-chested man was powerfully built – well suited for this work. He bent over and set a spike into the hole in an iron plate, tapping it a bit with a short stroke or two of the hammer to set it firmly. Then his massive chest and arm muscles ripped and shone with sweat as he swung the hammer over his head in a graceful arc. He struck the spike so it rang like a bell. The powerful man had driven it halfway home in a single blow. One more blow and it was all the way in. Heyes watched in awe. This man was both about twice his size and so graceful at his heavy work that it was almost frightening. Heyes couldn't see how he himself could possibly do this heavy work all day, or even for an hour or two, with his lax grad-student muscles. He had no choice but to try.

"Try some shorter strokes first, or you'll miss it, man," said the professional spike driver. "You'll miss sometimes anyway – new guys all do. So just go easy at first."

"Do it right, Heyes!" said the guard hostilely. "Do it right. And do it fast. Not a bunch of little blows. We got to get this done so we can get you guys back inside. Don't forget. If you miss and hit your foot, you'll never walk again. If you hit a guard - you'll never breathe again. You got that?"

Heyes nodded. He got it.

"And don't hit the guy who holds the spikes!" added the guard. "Murder ain't a good thing."

The spike driver said, "He don't need a guy to hold spikes if you let him set 'em himself! He'll need the breather between full power strokes on the spikes anyhow."

But the guards weren't willing to change what they had been told to do. They brought over another prisoner to crouch at Heyes' feet and do the dangerous work of placing each railroad spike into the hole in the metal plate that bound each rail to each tie. This man would hold the spike so Heyes could start to drive it home. One slip by Heyes on that first blow and this man would be horribly injured or killed. Heyes looked down at the man who would be his partner in this work. The man looked up at him with clear, surprised blue eyes. It was the Kid.

The two stared at each other, lips parted in silent shock. Both knew that they could not dare to speak to each other, much as they longed to communicate.

This was no accident. If Heyes was being punished, it was as much by the threat to his partner as by the physical challenge he himself faced. The Kid stared up at him and gave a tiny nod and smile. He knew his partner could do it. He just wanted Heyes to know that he knew it so his own doubts would not stand in his way.

"Get to it, Heyes!" yelled the red-headed guard, brandishing his switch. Did the man know what was happening here? There was no way to ask and no time to even think about it.

Heyes lifted the heavy hammer. The Kid placed the spike. Heyes could feel his partner cringing as the hammer swung close by his head, but only with a short blow to set it into the wood. Even with the short starting strokes it was frightening. After all the times that Curry had teased Heyes about driving nails, this was a bitter way to test out whether he was right about his partner's coordination. The Kid pulled back a couple of feet, now that the spike was deep enough into the wood to balance. Heyes swung the hammer over his head and down. For a wonder, he struck the spike squarely on the first try. The spike rang, but not nearly as loudly as when the real spike driver had done it.

The free man laughed. "You can't be so timid, what's your name? Did he say Hayes? Put your back into it, Hayes!"

Heyes swung the hammer again, harder - as hard as he could over his head. This time the spike rang loudly and was driven farther in. The spike driver watched critically and nodded. "Better!" he said, and slapped Heyes companionably on the back.

Heyes half missed the spike with the next blow, but his feet were safe. He took another two blows to finish driving that first spike in. The spike driver nodded. "Not bad for a little guy starting out." Heyes gave him a flash of a brilliant smile. Then his face was impassive again as he prepared to go on with work.

The enormous free worker stopped and studied the convict before him. Something about the man struck him and he asked, "Say, is that Heyes with an A or two Es?"

The guards laughed, surprised that the man was literate. One said, scornfully, "Two Es."

The spike driver pointed to Heyes and asked the guards, in disbelief, "You mean that's Hannibal Heyes the bank robber? Gonna drive spikes with me on this line?"

"None of your business!" yelled the guard, but Heyes nodded shame-facedly. He didn't dare to point out who the spike holder was.

The spike driver whistled on seeing the nod. "Well, now I don't have to ask what you done wrong so's they got you doin' this. Good luck, Heyes!"

The Kid held the next spike, tensing in anticipation of the deadly hammer that would be swinging right past his head. Heyes took a cautious first short swing. He missed the spike at the same moment that the Kid pulled back in fear. "Get it right, you clumsy bastards!" shouted the guard.

They set it up again. Again, Heyes used a cautious short stroke. He hit the spike squarely and then the Kid could safely pull back. Heyes swung the massive hammer over his head and the spike rang. Three more blows and the spike was in. That was five total blows and it would turn out to be Heyes' average. The professional across the way took only two or three, but he was a good hundred pounds heavier than Heyes. The two men drove spikes across the ties from one another for a half hour. Heyes' muscles were already starting to complain. The guards just stood around and watched this hard labor.

The spike driver stopped and wiped his brow. He called over a boy who was carrying a jug of water with a metal dipper. The big man filled the dipper a few times and drank. She he motioned the boy to give Heyes some water. Heyes was grateful for it. He made sure that the Kid got water, too.

The spike driver shook his head and laughed. "Welcome to real work, Heyes!" The convict grinned at him. "Say, Heyes, don't you talk none?" asked the rail road man. Heyes shook his head.

A guard answered for him. "They ain't allowed to talk. Just contemplate their wrong doings. That's the rules."

The spike driver looked started. "Really? So I don't get to hear that famous silver tongue. That's hard time! Sorry Heyes." The outlaw shrugged. He would have to learn to cope.

Then they went back to driving spikes. They stopped after 45 minutes, and then after 30 minutes or so to rest Heyes' protesting muscles and get some water. As Heyes grew more tired, he had to be more and more careful with the hammer, not to hurt himself or the Kid. Every time they stopped, Heyes could hear the Kid exhale in relief. It was the hardest work Heyes had ever done, harder even than cattle herding or gold mining. And he was painstaking about getting it right and not hurting the Kid.

By noon, Heyes' arms and back were aching, the muscles trembling into spasms. It now usually took him six or seven strokes or even more to drive in a spike. He had rarely been so grateful in his life to sit down as he was at lunch that day. He was surprised that the Kid got to sit down next to him and no guards were close enough to overhear any whispered conversation between them.

Heyes shoveled the stew into his mouth greedily, still hungry from his day on bread and water. The Kid did the same, but between bites he whispered to Heyes. "You alright Heyes? They said you got solitary."

"Yeah. Not so bad," answered Heyes between slurps of stew. "How're you?"

"No problems. But watch out for that cell block warden on your side, Johnson! They say men die under him – not murder – more subtle than that."

"Oh?" said Heyes, trying to hide how appalled he was. But there was no more conversation. A guard came too close and struck Heyes across the cheek with his switch. The cut on Heyes' cheek began to bleed again. The guards forced the men to sit several yards apart after that.

But behind their backs, a guard nodded to a guard. They sent another guard riding back to the prison.

The professional spike driver came over with his own plate of stew to sit near Heyes, although the guards scowled at him for it. "You're a little guy for this, Heyes, but by God you can work! I've seen a lot of guys your size or bigger get started on drivin' spikes and not make it an hour. But you won't make it through the afternoon. You've got to work your way up to that. I'll talk to the guards. I'll get 'em to stop this. You've had enough."

Heyes nodded his head gratefully, but he wasn't assuming that any such reasonable argument would be heard. He had taken off his prison shirt to help him make it through this heavy work. The twitching, painful spasms in his chest muscles were easily visible beneath the skin that was slick with sweat. Heyes' pale skin was starting to burn in the May sunshine. He had dropped some of his stew on the ground when his hands twitched involuntarily, cramping from the heavy exertion.

"Come on guys, Heyes won't make it like this. You're gonna' hurt the guy bad!" the spike driver was pleading with Heyes' guards.

But the guards would hear none of it. The particularly vicious guard with red hair said, "He don't stop 'till the block warden says stop. And he ain't said stop yet. So Heyes keeps drivin' spikes until he drops. He ain't in prison to be coddled. He and that gang of his robbed 43 banks and trains! Takes a bit to make up for that."

"I guess," said the spike driver, "but if it ain't a death sentence, you got to sit him down soon."

"We do what his block warden, Mr. Johnson, says," said the guard. He sounded frightened himself.

So when they had spent a scant half hour resting and eating and drinking, Heyes and the spike driver were back to facing each other across the ties. Heyes hoisted the long hammer again and cried out as his cramping muscles protested. He nearly dropped the hammer on the Kid holding the spike. "Sorry!" gasped Heyes to his partner.

A guard came and struck Heyes across his bare back with a switch, "Shut up! No talking! And get back to work, slacker."

Heyes stood for a moment and gaped at the man. Slacker? That was unjust! But so was all of this prison life. Heyes hoisted the hammer again and grunted as it drove home. Then he hoisted it again. He didn't know how long he would make it, but he had no choice but to give it all he had. Every swing hurt. He was painting hard as the afternoon went on. Each full swing made him moan. The spike driver across the way slowed down to keep a concerned eye on Heyes, although his much faster work had him far down the line.

Heyes didn't think he could make it for one more stroke, but he did. And then another. And another. He was close to passing out. He didn't see how he could possibly manage not to hurt the Kid, or worse.

A guard came riding from the prison. He rode right up to Heyes. "Stop it! That's enough for this man! Orders of Mr. Johnson. I'll bring him in."

Heyes gratefully lowered the hammer and wiped his brow with a rag his fellow spike driver had given him. A guard unfastened Heyes' leg irons from the chain that had secured him in place. He stepped back from the rails and fell to his knees, with his back muscles jerking spasmodically. He didn't know if he could make it for the walk back to the prison. A guard came over and attached a handcuff to just his right hand. The professional spike driver had a water boy go over to Heyes, who spilled as much water as he drank as his arms trembled.

"Heyes!" shouted the man on the horse. "Can you get up with me? Ride double?"

Heyes struggled to his feet. He didn't nod that he could manage to get up behind the saddle – he wasn't sure that he could. He could hardly stand steadily. But he reached up a hand for the guard to help him up. The guard reached down and took his hand. It was hard for Heyes' trembling muscles to haul him up behind the saddle, but he made it. The guard handcuffed Heyes to his own belt. Another guard rode near the double mounted pair, his pistol trained on Heyes the whole way. Heyes and the Kid shared a quick look as Heyes was taken away. Neither man had a clue what was coming next, but they knew that they were in over their heads.

Heyes arrived back at the Penitentiary still panting and exhausted. It was hard to put the heavy wool shirt back on over his sweating torso, but he couldn't go back into the prison only half clad. Two guards came out the front door and took charge of the convict. They fastened his arms behind him with handcuffs and marched him up stairs to a door that he had not seen before.

One of the guards knocked and called with a voice that sounded a little shaky, "We got Heyes like Mr. Johnson asked. He want to see him now?"

"Bring him in!" answered a loud voice. The guards took Heyes inside the room, which was an ordinary office. Heyes fought pain and exhaustion to keep his feet. A burly, bearded man behind a desk looked at Heyes a bit angrily. "He's filthy, but he'll do." The man stood up and knocked on an inner door. "Mr. Johnson? You want to see Heyes now?"

A much softer voice than Heyes had expected called back with what the prisoner recognized as an educated eastern accent, "Yes, Westerman, bring him in. Just you. We don't need the guards. Not with Mr. Heyes. Not now."

The two guards rushed out the door. If Mr. Johnson didn't want them, they were glad to go and be farther from him. The man from the office, Westerman, took hold of Heyes' handcuffs and pushed him through the inner door. Inside, Heyes saw a neatly appointed room that included a built-in book shelf half filled with expensive leather bound volumes. Behind a polished desk sat a slender blonde man in an elegantly tailored pale grey suit. Mr. Johnson gestured for Heyes to come closer, then held up a hand to stop him a yard away. Mr. Johnson's blue eyes looked calmly at the miserable and resentful prisoner before him, trembling with exhaustion. He looked Heyes up and down as he might inspect a prize Thoroughbred horse he was considering purchasing. He looked displeased with what he saw.

Johnson looked to Heyes to be quite young for a Warden who had established so much power. He looked probably not much more than 30. He was certainly much younger than Heyes himself. The slender, elegant Mr. Johnson caressed his own immaculately shaved cheek with one finger as he said in a refined tenor voice, "Well, well, well, Mr. Heyes. You do not look very comfortable. I understand that it has been a trying day for you. Would you like to take a bath and change clothes?"

Heyes was taken off balance by this civilized offer. Johnson was not the brute he had expected. Rather, this was a perceptive man from whom honest emotions and thoughts needed to be hidden, or he would take advantage of them. So Heyes stayed impassive and merely nodded. He was in no mood to be struck again for speaking out of turn.

"Mr. Heyes, you have permission to speak, here," said Johnson in cultivated tones. "However, I would advise you to choose your words carefully. I will listen to every syllable that you say. So allow me to repeat my offer. How would you like to take a nice bath and get into some more civilized clothes?"

Heyes kept his voice and choice of words just as cultivated as Johnson did. He now saw this little confrontation as one con man to another. But one of them held all the power while the other had only his wits. "I would like that very much, sir. Thank you. Would I sound ungrateful were I to ask to what I owe this consideration?" Heyes was not about to be outdone in surface politeness. His opponent was had terrific ambition and deadly force behind him. It could be a very bad combination.

Johnson smiled. "I want something from you, of course, Mr. Heyes. You can be considering what that might be while you bathe. The wardens' bathroom is through the door to the left. Please don't leave those filthy prison clothes on the floor. I will see you again shortly."

Heyes glanced over his shoulder and gently rattled his handcuffs. Johnson laughed softly and said in a mockingly gentle voice, "Oh, how thoughtless of me, Mr. Heyes. Mr. Westerman, would you please remove Mr. Heyes' handcuffs? I'm sure we can trust him while he is here with me, despite his . . . um . . . reputation. And, Mr. Heyes," Johnson lifted his pale eyebrows and looked at Heyes with gentle warning, "I would advise you not to attempt to climb out the window. It has iron bars over it, and besides, it leads into the prison yard."

Heyes had known that about the window, as Johnson must have known that he did. The words had been said only in order to show who was in charge and had the most knowledge of the situation.

Once into the bathroom, Heyes took Johnson at his word, and carefully hung his clothing on a high brass hook on the wall. He took his heavy, sweat-soaked wool garments off with distaste. He enjoyed a soaking bath with a refined lavender soap that couldn't have been more different from the cheap brown soft lye soap he had washed with when he arrived at the Penitentiary. The hot water was a real comfort on his aching muscles that only gradually stopped cramping and trembling. When Heyes was done washing his body and hair, he dried off with a soft, fluffy white cotton towel that felt wonderful on his sore body.

Heyes shaved with a beautifully sharp razor. Looking in a mirror for the first time in days, he was distressed to see how bad the cut on his face looked. It had been opened and reopened so many times - there was no avoiding it – he would be scared for life. It didn't matter here, but if he ever got back out into the world, it would bother Beth. If she still cared about Heyes or even remembered him by then. Looking at his naked scarred body, Heyes wondered when he would be with a woman again. Probably never.

Now that he was clean, dry, and shaved, Heyes found a freshly cleaned dark grey suit and a freshly washed and ironed white shirt waiting for him on a chair with a clean set of cotton underwear, socks, and a nice pair of polished leather shoes. He was sure that everything would fit – the clothes were his own. It was a sensual delight to be clean and dressed in clean clothing, although his muscles were still aching all over.

But now Heyes needed to go and talk with Mr. Johnson. He wasn't looking forward to it. He knew that the man was going to try to talk him into something, that it would something bad, and that Johnson held all the cards. Heyes was tired and aching, but he tried to be as alert as he could. Heyes gathered himself and tried to look self-possessed, but he was scared as he walked into the office next door. He knew that whatever happened could be life or death not only for him, but for Jed Curry as well. This was like being tried for his life all over again, except this time the authority trying him had, apparently, no regard for the law. The punishments he meted out included death – that was certainly not legal. What else might go on here beyond the strictures of the law, past what Heyes already knew about?

Heyes walked into Mr. Johnson's office. The slender blonde warden gestured for the dark convict sit in a leather upholstered chair across the desk for him. To Heyes this padded seat felt so comfortable that it seemed wrong to him that he could feel this way while so many miserable men were all around him. A bottle of wine and two delicate glasses sat on Johnson's polished desk. "Wine, Mr. Heyes?" Johnson offered. Heyes hesitated. "It's good wine. It isn't drugged – I'll join you."

Heyes smiled and nodded. He took it, hoping it wasn't the first step on the way to a new Hell. But he really needed that wine, right now. He knew this moment wouldn't last. He would be back in the cells and with the prisoners in no time. And what might happen to him then would be determined by what he said now. He seriously doubted that anything he was going to say would make his life outside of this room any better. And his words might make it much, much worse.

Johnson looked at Heyes with interest. Then he spoke smoothly in words that Heyes guessed he must have practiced a few times, "You must be wondering, Mr. Heyes, what it is that a prisoner could possibly offer a warden. I have researched you. I was surprised to discover that we have, in you, not the usual brutal, ignorant criminal that we are accustomed to here. We have an educated, sophisticated man. A scholar. A master's degree from New York University- lacking only the diploma. With undoubtedly high honors. An aspiring college professor. In addition to your other undoubted talents for shall we say, less honest endeavors. The word that invariably comes up, I don't need to tell you, is brilliant." Johnson paused. "Well, Mr. Heyes, would you call that an accurate estimate of your gifts?"

Heyes smiled slowly. "Yes."

Behind his smiling mask, Heyes was thinking, with some relief, that Johnson was not much of a researcher. He must have gotten his facts from a bad newspaper rather than the transcript of the trial. He had Heyes' school wrong and presumably other facts as well.

Johnson nodded. "But you hardly get to use your better gifts, here. Nor will you, ever, for the rest of your life."

"No." It was a hoarse gasp of pain. Heyes could act his way through nearly any other conceivable thing that Johnson could say. But his pain in leaving behind all that he and Beth had worked so hard for – that he could not hide.

"That is, unless you decide to listen to what I have to tell you today, Mr. Heyes." Johnson expected to have Heyes' attention. And he did.

But Heyes was back in control of himself, though hardly because he held out any hope that this conversation would bring anything but pain and betrayal. He spoke lightly, hiding his deep distrust and fear, "So, what is that, Mr. Johnson? What do you have to say to me?"

Johnson smiled briefly. Then he wiped all emotion from his face. "Before I tell you that, Mr. Heyes, allow me to point out a few things. I can be a very good man to please, and a very bad man to displease. You have already found out some of the things that I can do, although you may not have appreciated the fact that I was behind them. Nothing you have experienced has been by chance. Everything you have experienced here has been my doing, Mr. Heyes. Everything. From the deaf man with whom you share your cell, who therefore induced you to speak out of turn and be punished; to the long conversation you were able to have with Mr. Mosley and the punishment that followed it for you both; to your hours driving railroad spikes with your partner's head inches from the path of the hammer – all of it was my doing. All of that and much more was put into place to prepare you for this meeting."

Heyes stared at him, playing up how shocked and impressed he was. He really wasn't that surprised, but he was impressed. The warden had, indeed, manipulated the famous outlaw masterfully. Seeing the intelligence behind it, Heyes considered himself to have a worthy opponent. And one he could not allow to win.

Heyes said, with an appraising gaze, "Hmn. The bugs in solitary – those were yours?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Heyes," Johnson was smiling again. "This is a very clean prison, unless that does not suit my purposes."

"Ah," said Heyes with a wicked smile, "a man after my own heart. A detail man! It's the details that make a con come across."

"So you think of me as a fellow confidence artist? That may have some truth to it," said Johnson with a thoughtful nod. "But," Johnson continued, "you must not think of me as being your equal in any other way. My power is far beyond anything that you will ever have again. As you are now discovering, I can not only cause bad things to happen to you if I am displeased. Should you please me, I can also bring you comfort and perhaps even satisfaction. I cannot have you released from this institution, but I can do nearly anything for you while you are here. I can make you miserable, or I can make you comfortable. I can keep your partner safe, or have him killed. I can put the two of you together or insure that you never see him again. I can get you good food or swill. I can put you in the dark forever, or get you access to the finest books on earth."

Johnson stopped and studied Heyes' face. Heyes grinned wickedly at the man, beginning to craft a character for him to believe in. He took the chance of making that character strong, rather than cringing with deference. "I notice the new complete Shakespeare on your shelf, Mr. Johnson. I saw it in the Astor Library in New York. I chose to read other editions – the type in that one is too small to be practical. You should be willing to pay more and to give more space to books if you want to be taken for an educated man."

Johnson's eyes flashed. The jab had struck home. So had Heyes' bold move been foolish, or had it worked? Johnson gave a brief, soft laugh, "That, Mr. Heyes, is just the kind of knowledge that could make you so very useful to me. I value a man who will speak honestly with me – up to a point. The main word that I want to hear from you, now, is yes."

Heyes looked hard at the warden. Now they would get to the point of this whole elaborate little play, "Yes to what, Mr. Johnson?"

"Yes to working for me. Would you consider that?" Johnson looked hard at Heyes to gauge his reaction. Heyes thought he could see the faintest bit of sweat break out on the young Warden's upper lip. The answer to this mattered to him. It mattered a lot. And that gave Heyes power where he had been certain that he would have none.

Heyes nodded and spoke with oily restraint, still playing his bold, and evil, character. "I would consider it. But I need to know more. Much more. What kind of work?"

"Any and all kinds," said Johnson with purposeful mystery. "I would reserve the right to ask anything whatsoever of you."

"In a prison? You have a whole corps of guards and, I gather, some prisoners, working for you. You have things the way you want them already. I'm not a practiced murderer. What do you need with me?" Heyes was honestly curious.

"You have knowledge, skills, and intelligence that can be very useful to my . . . larger plans," said Johnson.

"Plans? What kind of plans?" asked Heyes cautiously.

Johnson gloried in his power over his famous prisoner, "Do you really expect me to reveal that to you – a mere prisoner who has promised me nothing? Let it suffice that my . . . activities . . . do not stop at the walls of this little institution. Nor need your opportunities, if you are obedient and loyal. So, Heyes, yes or no?"

Heyes stayed externally cautious, as inwardly he recoiled, "I would like some time to think about that, Mr. Johnson, and additional information would be very helpful."

Johnson began to lose hold of his suave persona and to grow a little angry, "Do you really think, Hannibal Heyes, that you can play me? That you can make a comfortable time for yourself . . . and for your heinous, murdering partner . . . while you give me nothing in return as you pretend to consider? I have told you what I can do to you and to him – or for you both if you decide to work with me. Yes or no!?"

Heyes was now forced to be honest. "Then, Mr. Johnson, the answer is no."

Johnson's eyes showed his anger, but he quickly got himself at least mostly back under control. "Do you really think that you can hold out against all the many forms of persuasion that I have at my command, Heyes? You should reconsider. Indeed, you must reconsider."

"No," said Heyes in a restrained voice.

"Well, then, we will see what we will see." said Johnson mildly, looking Heyes in the eyes.

The young warden shouted to the man in the next office, "Westerman! Bring guards! Heyes has threatened me! Have them put him back into his uniform. Then take him to his cell and hang him by his thumbs. And let the prisoners parade by him and do as they please when they come into dinner. Leave him until I tell you to let him down." Now his voice fell to a vile, crisply articulated whisper, "If, Heyes, I ever do happen to remember to have them take you down. I have many other things on my mind. Many, many other things."


	57. Chapter 57

Even in his scant two and a half days at the Wyoming State Penitentiary, the Kid had heard whispers about the all too common punishment of hanging a man by his hands. In front of each cell was a metal bracket that supported the walkway leading to the cells above it. Each bracket had holes in it through which thongs were strung and tied around the man's hands, suspending him about a foot above the floor. As the man hung, if he had merited particularly severe punishment, the entire population of the cells would parade by and have the opportunity to berate and abuse the man.

Now the Kid was the last in line of all the inmates of the Wyoming State Penitentiary to pass by a man from the other cell block who was hanging from the supports in front of his cell. The Kid was puzzled by what he heard. There was a low buzz of whispers, both from the men at the front of the line, and passing among the men in line. The whispers stopped when they got to the man in front of the Kid. It was evident that he, personally, was not meant to hear what was being said.

But one thing was clear. The men weren't yelling at or abusing the hanging man, although their guards had given them explicit permission and even encouragement to do so. He couldn't tell what they were saying, as far back as he was in line, but he could tell that it wasn't hostile. For a gathering of frustrated criminals not to be abusing a helpless man was sufficiently unusual for the Kid to stare and listen in real curiosity. This was the first time that he had seen his fellow prisoners united in anything but fear. After the hard day Curry had had, he could really use any new that would give him hope that not every aspect of this imprisoned life was brutal.

As the Kid finally approached near enough to see the hanging man himself, the Kid got a shock, but only a mild one. It was Heyes. The Kid sighed. He had fetched a few punches and switch blows since his arrival at penitentiary, but Heyes had come in for a troubling amount of punishment. Outside, it had been the Kid who had found his way into fights as he stood up for the oppressed. Here, for reasons that he couldn't figure out, it was almost always Heyes. The man seemed nearly forced into it. How much were they going to do to his partner before they were done?

But Curry noticed a curious thing. Heyes wasn't really hanging by his thumbs - there was no tension on the thongs. As the Kid came closer, he could see what was happening. As each man came to Heyes, he supported his fellow prisoner up around his knees so that there was little or no pressure on his thumbs. The men did it smoothly, handing Heyes from man to man with perfect coordination; it was clear that they had done this before. Somehow, the whole prison population had managed to organize themselves to save one of their fellows from as much suffering as they could.

And as the Kid grew even closer, he could tell that Heyes was saying something to each man, although he couldn't hear what it was. He could hear some of what the men were saying to Heyes, although there were also low, quick whispers that he couldn't hear. But he did hear "You sure don't deserve this – we won't let you down, Heyes!" "Don't worry, Heyes – we're all watching your back!" The Kid was touched. The men knew who Heyes was and they held nothing against him. Not even the men like Crum, who had evidently sold out, let Heyes down. They all supported him – literally. For the first time since he and his partner had arrived in this hard place, the Kid smiled.

Now Curry, the last man in line, was coming next to Heyes. The man in front of him in line turned and smiled back at the Kid, showing clearly that the support felt for Heyes also extended to his partner. The man showed the Kid how to support his partner firmly around the knees to keep him safe for the space of one man longer. Heyes smiled down at the Kid and began to chuckle softly.

The Kid looked up at his partner and said, shaking his head with a little grin, "Partner, you have finally lost it. After all this damn place has done to you, and I've heard tell of more'n you've told me, it has gotten to you."

"No, Kid," said Heyes softly, so the nearby guards might not hear, or at least not understand how important what they were talking about was, "I don't think so."

"Then why are you laughing while you're hanging there? Tell me that," said Curry, a little sourly.

"'Cause I've figured it out, Kid! I can't believe I couldn't see if before. But, late or not, I've finally figured it out!" said Heyes very softly, but smiling triumphantly.

"Figured what out?" the Kid whispered, not sure, of the various mysteries besetting them, what his partner meant. He had to shift his balance to keep his partner supported and not really hanging painfully.

Now Heyes looked more serious, and he could see that the Kid would have to let him down soon. He was a considerable weight for a tired man to support. "You know what! Numbers? Three? Don't want to mess it up now – so close! So close! I can't tell you straight out."

"That's enough, Curry! Move on and let him down!" said a surly guard.

"Sorry, partner!" whispered the Kid as he let his partner down as gently as possible to begin the real punishment.

The Kid walked down the hall and looked back at his partner, more than a little concerned about what would go on when he couldn't see or control it.

Heyes breathed hissing through his teeth as he hung, his arms extended. He turned slightly, helplessly, as he hung. He avoided the glances of the men as they walked past him coming back from the kitchen with their dinners. He could smell the food. His stomach, never full here, growled uneasily. He felt, in addition to uncomfortable physically, extremely silly to be hanging there. There was certainly no way to hide.

The pain wasn't too bad, but it was getting gradually worse as the strain on his wrist and arm joints increased. His arms were tingling and then began to go to sleep. As the guards came to gather up the men's empty dishes, they stared at Heyes, some with compassion and some with a sick satisfaction. This place did things to men – and not just to inmates.

As Heyes hung there, both bored and in increasing pain, he became aware that someone was standing behind him. He didn't dare to say anything and he was unable to turn around. He could sense the silent presence and began to wonder who it was. A hostile guard? Johnson himself?

A stout, suited form finally stepped in front of Heyes. "Mr. Heyes, what are you doing up there?" the man asked, sounding a bit peeved.

Heyes looked resentfully at the warden who was in charge of the whole prison. This was the man whose lack of knowledge of control over what happened in his own prison was causing not only Heyes himself, but so many men, such trouble and pain. Heyes did not answer the question, unsure of whether he was being trapped into courting more punishment by speaking.

"My apologies, Mr. Heyes!" said the warden, actually sounding sorry in his condescending way, "you may speak freely."

Heyes spoke softly, though he had no real hope of keeping what he would say from the constantly patrolling guards and, of course, the listening rows of inmates. "Thank you, Warden," said Heyes, restraining the sarcasm that he felt tempted to use, "Mr. Johnson had me put here and said I should stay until he remembered to have them get me down."

"Mr. Johnson? And what cause did he have to do that, Mr. Heyes?" The warden sounded surprisingly upset at this.

Heyes' voice grew hard. "He said that I threatened him. It's a lie! Unless he meant that I threatened not to help him with whatever scheme he has in mind! He asked me to work for him and had me strung up here when I refused. He's working on something outside the law, Warden. He wants my help. He won't get it. My partner and I went straight and we mean it."

The warden stared at Heyes in shock and fury for some time before he could get himself under control enough to speak. "That is an extremely serious accusation, Mr. Heyes. I assume that you have proof of it?"

"Of course, I cannot prove what he said to me in his office!" Heyes spat out resentfully, "But I have ample evidence of his illegal and unethical activities in this prison!"

"Can you give me that evidence?" asked the Warden, in disbelief. "I have heard many accusations against Mr. Johnson for his, um, firm means of discipline. But no one has ever before offered any proof of actual wrong-doing."

Heyes kept his voice level and soft, hoping no guards would hear, "I can offer you plenty of proof. But I can't discuss it until tomorrow afternoon."

"What not until then?" the warden was worried. His shifted from foot to foot as if he was as uncomfortable as Heyes was getting to be.

"I'll tell you then. Not before the afternoon! And Warden, could you please get me down from here? These thongs are starting to chafe!" Heyes kept his sense of humor even hanging in mid-air. Chafing was the least of his worries at the moment!

"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed the warden, disconcerted. He really had forgotten how much distress Heyes was in. The warden, "Guards! Cut this man down immediately! Make sure that he is as comfortable as possible. Then get him some dinner and a hot bath. It is Saturday night! He needs to be clean for church in the morning."

Two guards went to get step stools that they kept handy for such purposes. To Heyes they seemed to take forever going to get the stool and bringing them back. Then the pair climbed up and cut Heyes down. He fell heavily to his knees, and sat for a while working the blood back into his arms and rubbing where the thongs had, indeed, chafed him.

"Are you in pain, Mr. Heyes? Do you need to go to the hospital?" asked the warden, bending over his currently most troublesome inmate in concern.

"No, not really, Warden. It's not too bad, if I can just get a chance to rest," said Heyes, rubbing his hands and wrists ruefully. "But for a lot of men around here, it has been and it is very bad. Because of Mr. Johnson."

"I promise to begin an official government investigation into his conduct immediately, Mr. Heyes," said the Warden solemnly. "But I will require your evidence if it is to be effective. And Heyes, I saw how your fellow prisoners supported you - literally! That speaks well for you and I will bear it in mind."

"Thank you, Warden! You will have my full cooperation, so long as I have your assurance of my and my partner's safety." said Heyes, "And I do appreciate the food and the bath!"

"Naturally, you are safe so long as you are here!" said the warden, self-righteously. Heyes could hardly keep from openly contradicting the man. As someone just being released from torture, if pretty mild torture, Heyes knew well that he had no guarantee whatsoever of security.

Heyes noticed that a guard who had been hiding in a shadow around the corner from the last cell hurried away down the hall. He must have heard every word of Heyes' conversation with the Warden. He was surely going to report this to Mr. Johnson. The cell block warden would be far from pleased. Heyes only wished that he could get word to the Kid to watch himself. But he doubted that the Kid needed the warning – the man had too much sense.

As the stout warden retreated nervously toward the office where he spent far too much of his time, Heyes thought to himself, "Boy, there's a great comfort. An official government investigation! By what I read in the newspapers, that's one of the slowest processes in creation! The Kid and I could be dead of old age before he finishes that!"

Later that night, Heyes lay in the darkness, fed, clean, and feeling much better after a nice hot bath that had soothed his aching limbs. He was finally back in his cell with Smith. His cell mate had welcomed him gladly. Heyes little upper bunk with its thin mattress seemed a miracle of comfort after solitary confinement, driving railroad spikes, and hanging by his thumbs.

Heyes tossed and turned, plagued with worries. What if he was wrong about the solution he had come up with to Senator Warren's cryptic telegram? What if his overconfidence put the Kid and himself in danger? He and the Kid still had to make it through until at least the following afternoon – through whatever Johnson could devise to stop them. They might make it so long as Johnson didn't know why the time of tomorrow afternoon was so important. Even if Heyes was right and Johnson didn't get them before the afternoon, it seemed to Heyes, things for himself in particular were surely not what he could wish. He thought of Beth and wished that he could be free and holding her right then.


	58. Chapter 58

The Kid sat hunched over in his cell bunk in the predawn darkness. He wished that he could be sure of what Heyes thought he had figured out. From the way Heyes was acting, it sure seemed to be good news. Evidently something would happen soon. "So close!" Heyes had said with a smile. It sounded like he still thought that the amnesty might come through, and soon! But not being sure of that and not knowing what the authorities of the Penitentiary might be planning, the Kid felt helpless to do anything for his partner. He would simply have to watch like a hawk to see what actually did happen and what he could possibly do to help it to turn out well. And what if Heyes was wrong? He seemed very confident, but Curry knew his partner well enough to realize that he often put on a confident act when he was most unsure.

At the same time on the other side of the penitentiary, Heyes also sat up in his cell bunk in the dark worrying. He couldn't know what would happen the next day. His confidence, that had been so high when he had been talking to every man in the prison in turn, was now at a record low. The rhythmic work song the old jail bird had taught him kept going through his head: "Our boots and clothes is all in pawn! Go down you blood-red roses, go down!" Would Heyes be singing it, driving spikes, forever? Or would his desperate hopes be fulfilled? Or would he not live to see another sunset? He could only assume that Johnson's retribution would come home to himself and perhaps to the Kid as well. It had been taking a very long chance for Heyes to trust the warden with as much information as he had. Considering Heyes' only very doubtful, and possibly extremely short future, he simply had to get someone to look into Johnson. No matter what happened to him personally, he couldn't let these abuses go on. He had to do what he could to help, even if it cost him his life.

Heyes went over and back over and back over the logic of his simple solution to the mysterious brief telegram from Senator Warren. If he was wrong, it would certainly mean disaster for himself and probably for the Kid as well. But even if he was right, Heyes would have to pull off the con of his life against a canny and powerful opponent. And he would have to do it without being able to communicate openly with the Kid; and without his pick locks, or dynamite, or guns, or horses.

Back in his own cell, the Kid kept nervously waking and trying to go back to sleep as he waited for the later Sunday morning waking time of 7:30. Finally, the bugle sounded and the men got up to strip their beds and march off to breakfast. After the best breakfast he had had in prison so far, of hot hash browns, the Kid and his cell mate joined the line of men going to church.

The Kid looked surreptitiously around the small hall that was pressed into duty as a chapel on Sundays. But he could not spot Heyes anywhere. As the preachy sermon by a local clergyman started, the Kid was paying very little attention. His whole mind was on Heyes and his plans. Missing church was a serious punishment at the Penitentiary. So where was Heyes instead and what was happening to him? The Kid had no answer. He squirmed in his seat until the guy next to him actually swatted him. Listening to the sermon was one of the treats of the week and Curry was spoiling it for his neighbor.

As the men were solemnly filing out of the service, the man behind Curry whispered to him, "We're real grateful to you and Heyes!"

The Kid was baffled. He looked back in silent question.

The other prisoner replied very, very softly but with excitement, "You know – takin' down Johnson! Heyes sure got enough stories from us boys yesterday while he was hangin' up! Even the sellouts hate Johnson!"

A guard yelled at the talkative man, "Silence! No speaking to one another!" He pulled the prisoner out of line and hit him across the face with his switch several times. The Kid was relieved to continue on his way without getting any punishment of his own, although he felt bad for his fellow prisoner. But he was nearly as shaken by what the man had said as he would have been by a blow. Not having heard what Heyes had told the warden, nor what he had said to the other inmates, the Kid was shocked that his partner would come out in the open with plans against cell block warden Johnson. If Johnson heard that information, then things would soon get very bad for Heyes, and probably for the Kid as well. Heyes might be with Johnson, or some of his men, even now. And it wouldn't be a pleasant meeting.

Curry's mind began to work. If Heyes was alone with Johnson, then the Kid's partner had no chance. If the brutal cell block warden felt threatened, it would not be hard for him to find official excuse to do very great harm to the lowly, indeed notorious, inmate threatening him. With what the Kid had heard from Crum, Johnson might even have Heyes killed. And that might not be the worst possible threat. The Kid remembered the limping ex con he had met who'd gotten out of the pen.

The only way that the Kid knew to help his partner was to be with him – to work with him. But how could he possibly manage to get to where Heyes was and be anything but helpless himself? As he thought, the Kid was being marched back to his cell. Once he was locked in, he would be unable to help Heyes in any way. What could he do? If Curry simply stepped out of line and made a break for it, he would be caught and confined in seconds. It would do Heyes no good at all. And he couldn't think of any rational reason for him to ask to see the man in charge of a cell block that was not his own.

Curry simply couldn't conceive of how to do what he needed to do. He was watched every minute in this place. Then he was being locked into his cell. He had missed his opportunity. He climbed onto his bunk and stared dazedly on the wall. Maybe he was imagining things, but he thought not. Heyes was in danger and the Kid couldn't help him.

As the Kid sat, a guard came to the cell door. He said, "Step back!" to the Kid's cell mate, who had been sitting at the desk writing his monthly letter home. The man dropped his pen onto the desk as if it had burned him and stood with is back flat against the fronts of the bunks.

"Curry, you're comin' with me!" said the guard. It was the same nasty red-headed guard who had been with the Kid and Heyes while they had been working in the rail yard. It looked like Curry might be on his way to his partner's side very soon.

The Kid jumped down from his bunk at the far end away from the cell door. He stepped accidentally against the edge of the desk and felt his cell mate's pen roll against the back of his arm. The Kid's cell mate stepped away from Curry, toward the cell door, fetching a yell from the guard "Away from the door! You ain't goin' nowhere!" In that instant, while the guard was distracted, the Kid took the steel-nibbed pen in his left hand and secreted it in the back of the baggy waistband of his prison uniform. If its tiny reservoir leaked ink, it would be easily hidden by the garment's broad black top stripe. The Kid had a modest weapon and the beginning of a vague plan.

The guard marched the Kid down to the end of the cell block, and then up the stairs. The day was fine and the windows were opened. The Kid heard, ever so faintly, a distant church chime somewhere in Laramie. Considering the length of the sermon he had just sat through, Curry figured it must be striking 11:30. He recalled hearing that same church chime ring the same hour from much nearer on the day when he and Heyes had arrived in Laramie on the train the previous Thursday. It was hard to believe that they were less than half an hour from having been at the Wyoming State Penitentiary for only three full days.

Suddenly Curry knew what Heyes had realized the day before and tried in vain to communicate to his partner without giving it away to the guards around them. The Kid knew that his desperate little plan had a chance, if only a tiny one, to save the partners. He couldn't afford to get anything wrong. And neither could Heyes. But if they got everything right, things could come out very well for them. Just so long as Heyes really was right about the telegram. Once again, Curry might be entrusting his life to Heyes and his wild ideas. Heyes' ideas were very often right. But not always.

The fierce red-haired guard man-handled Curry up the steps toward Mr. Johnson's office. The Kid stumbled and fell to his knees on the steps. The guard jerked at his arm and threw off the Kid's balance even worse. As the Kid scrambled to get to his feet, the hidden steel-nibbed pen found its way into his left hand, carefully hidden against his side under his over-long striped sleeve. The guard growled at Curry, "On your feet, you clumsy fool!" Curry scrambled for a few more seconds, then figured that he had better go ahead and move on. He had taken all the time he could. He got to his feet. The guard and his charge made their way up to the second floor landing.

The guard took Curry to a door marked "Mr. Johnson." He opened it and took Curry into an empty outer office. The Kid stifled a sigh of relief. This layout of an outer and an inner office couldn't be more ideal for his plan. The guard knocked on the inner door and yelled in his gruff voice, "Mr. Johnson! I have Curry here! Do you want him?"

The smooth tenor voice of Johnson replied, "No, not yet. In fact, take him out and down the hall for a few minutes. Mr. Heyes and I still have some things to discuss and I would like to be sure that our consultation is strictly private."

The guard turned to take Curry back out of the outer door, but as he turned back to his prisoner, he found the man standing very close, facing him with a sharp steel-nibbed pen held in his left hand. Curry had the pen's base braced against the ball of his thumb and his fingers along the steel nib, making the little instrument into a precision weapon. The sharp pen was pointed directly at the guard's throat where the ends of his collar bone came together. While neither man was a doctor, both were familiar with the anatomical facts that made various parts of the body susceptible to attack. Both men knew well that if Curry jabbed the pen straight into the guard's throat and out its back, he would die a very nasty death, choking on his own blood and paralyzed by a spinal cord injury before he could draw his gun. The guard hesitated for just a split second about yelling for help – it would look very foolish for him to be caught so vulnerable by a prisoner. Curry took that instant and jabbed the pen forward with his left hand. The guard tried to reach for his gun, but Curry pounded his right hand as hard as he could into just the right spot on the back of the man's head. The guard fell forward, out cold. The jab with the pen had been only a feint to distract the guard from the true nature of the attack; Curry had drawn only a few drops of blood.

Curry was relieved to have avoided killing the guard and therefore being later hung for murder and attempted jail break. But the guard's body fell heavily against the outer office door that led into the hall, with his half-drawn gun also banging hard against the door. Curry froze, wondering what Johnson would do about the loud sound. There was a long, tense moment of waiting. Nothing happened. Johnson did not look out of his door or even call out a question. Belatedly, it occurred to the Kid that the sound of the guard's limp body and his gun falling into the door was very much like the sound of a door slamming – exactly what Johnson must have been expecting to hear as the guard accompanied Curry out and down the hall. So Curry was safe for the moment. He guided the limp but still living body to the floor with the greatest of caution. He couldn't afford to cause another sound that would get Johnson's attention.

Curry picked up the guard's gun and looked at it. The man was damned careless! There was only one bullet in the gun and the guard had no ammunition on him. But the one bullet could be enough – especially if Curry could play it right and never have to pull the trigger. But he didn't know whether Johnson might have a fully loaded gun in his hand or even a fully armed guard with him in his office. It would be much, much better to let the authorities take care of this – if Heyes was right!

Then Curry snuck silently to listen at the inner office door. He didn't want to break in at the wrong moment and upset whatever plan Heyes had going. What he heard was Johnson's unctuous voice, obviously continuing a long monologue to Heyes. "The longer he goes on the better!" thought the Kid. "As long as Johnson don't catch on to that!"

Johnson was saying, ". . . have outlined what exciting plans we can carry forward together for concealing . . . unexplained income. And the . . . acquisition of large volumes of . . . well, I think I had still better leave that dark. But something valuable, you may be sure, and something that your . . . peculiar talents and training would make it easy for us to get. Will you now consent to the proposition to work for me?"

There was a pause. Curry could practically hear his partner counting off seconds before he replied, just as slowly and unctuously as the cell block warden, "Mr. Johnson, I have explained to you my bitter experiences with having stolen large amounts of valuable substances. People didn't like it. They tended to send sheriffs and posses and other dangerous parties after us. And by the way, don't bother to hide the fact that it's gold you are talking about making away with. It always is. But by all means, please do tell me why your proposal would be better than my previous life of crime. Give me every detail, Mr. Johnson, for I am realizing what an eloquent man and what a powerful and intelligent man you are. Who knows, you may just convince me. I am not, I believe, an unreasonable or exceptionally demanding man. Nor is my partner, who must certainly be a part of any such agreement. You cannot leave him out of your calculations."

Curry grinned as he leaned against the door. He could hear Heyes counting up syllables and using as many as he could. He was playing for time. Curry himself was just as carefully counting off time until Johnson would expect the guard to return with his charge. Curry leaned away from the door for a moment and checked to make sure that the guard was still unconscious. He was. Then the Kid leaned back against the inner office door to hear Johnson speaking again.

". . . safety of being already behind bars where no one could possibly suspect you, cannot be over stated. Oh, Mr. Heyes, I can make things very comfortable for you and for your partner, for whom I could certainly find work as well. If you will consent to following my orders, regardless of their relationship to the law, I can get you both much more comfortable clothes, more comfortable sleeping arrangements, much better food, much more reasonable hours of waking, much more frequent and better baths. How does that sound to you?"

"Go on. I am quite certain that you can make your offer far more appealing than that. I'm sure that you can find attractive proposals for my partner, as well," said Heyes slowly. Curry could just hear him smiling as if he were warming to the idea of being a dirty bookkeeper and theft planner for hire.

Johnson went on with various offers of comforts that could be offered. Heyes, again, urged him to enumerate more specifics. This went back and forth for some minutes. It grew rather dull for the listening Curry, but he was happy enough. He checked the guard again – he was still not moving. "Tick, tick, tick," thought Curry. Heyes, the master con man was getting Johnson to trust him not with money, but with time. The Kid would bide his own time very carefully to make sure that he wouldn't upset this con. He didn't want to fire his precious single bullet too soon. He always wanted to avoid murder, but he also didn't want to waste the bullet.

"Oh, there are so many things that I can do for the pair of you," continued Johnson, "I can house you and your partner, Mr. Curry, in the same cell together. I can ask the guards to ignore whatever they might hear from that cell – so that you can speak freely. Or do whatever you like. We can put the deaf Mr. Smith next to you so you needn't worry over any lack of privacy . . ."

Johnson was still droning on. The Kid thought this would be an opportune moment for him to open and loudly close the outer office's door from the hall. He was now officially back in the outer office. Curry expected to be summoned any minute.

He put his ear back to the door to hear Johnson saying, " . . .can make whatever arrangements you wish, within reason. You would, after all, still technically be prisoners. But prisoners with very comfortable living conditions and the ability to own such property as books. And perhaps the occasional leave to visit outside establishments – under guard, of course. All of this, of course, providing that you will put your excellent minds and skilled hands to work for me. Only for me."

The contrast of the life Johnson was describing with what Heyes and Curry were enduring now was extremely stark. Curry had no doubt at all - Heyes would never agree to cooperate with Johnson under any conditions. The Kid trusted his partner absolutely. Yet Heyes made Johnson believe that he might be weakening in his resolve.

"I detect that your partner is now in the outer office," said Johnson softly, "Why don't we invite him in to see if my offers are more appealing to him? Perhaps he can make suggestions about what might make my offer more likely to sway you."

Johnson shouted, "Send Curry in! Stay out there, but just make sure that his hands are bound securely!"

This was a very ticklish moment. Would Johnson have a gun in his hand or another guard with him? Would Heyes have his hands free or be in handcuffs or chains? The Kid couldn't know. So he would have to play this entrance very carefully. His heart was racing as he prepared to step into Heyes' silver-tongued con.

Curry imitated the hoarse voice of the unconscious guard, shouting through the door "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson!" Then he paused for a moment to take the time that would have been needed to check the security of his own hands. Curry opened the door slightly and let it drift farther opened for a moment, taking the time to put his hands behind his back, holding the guard's gun between them. Then he stepped into the room with a jerk, as if he had been pushed from behind. The door closed softly behind him without Curry's having to do a thing. He sent a silent thank you to whatever guardian angel might look out after outlaws gone straight. How to close the door was a detail that had been preying on his mind.

The Kid found the slender blonde Johnson behind his desk. There was a pistol in an opened drawer right in front of him. Heyes was standing defiantly before the desk, with his hands handcuffed behind him. Heyes turned to look at his partner. He raised an eyebrow in question – was the Kid onto what was happening, the play for time? The Kid nodded ever so slightly, mostly with his eyes.

"Mr. Curry," said Johnson, "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Johnson. I am the warden of the other cell block – the one that you are glad that you are not in. I have been telling your estimable partner how very nice I could make life here for you both if you would simply agree to work for me. To do whatever I would ask of you, in exchange for the finest of housing, food, drink, and other comforts. We might even be able to provide, um, company for you of a more agreeable kind than you are currently experiencing. What do you say to that, Mr. Curry?"

The Kid went to the oldest trick in the book for taking up time. He looked thoughtful and did not say anything at all. As he stood silently, he appreciated the slight breeze that came through Johnson's opened office window on this very warm May day. Presently, something else came through the window – the distant sound of that same far off church bell that the Kid had heard before. It was striking noon. The Kid and Heyes exchanged a quick look that could be explained as partners deciding whether they were interested in this offer. What was really contained in that look was Heyes starting to get very nervous and the Kid was not feeling much better. The law should be here by now. It had been a bit before noon when arrived at the Penitentiary three days before. If the three nevers in Senator Warren's telegram meant that the authorities would free the partners after three days, then they should be here by now. The Kid assumed that the three days would have been seen by the four governors as merely symbolic punishment for two notorious felons before giving them amnesty. The governors could not have guessed all that the two men would go through in those three days.

And yet, there was no sign of the authorities arriving. Here Heyes and Curry were still on their own. What if the message really meant three weeks or three months or three years? Or what if Heyes' idea about three was wrong entirely? The two partners could be caught playing for time with a con that had no ending – or at least none that they could survive. The play for time could go on for only so long. Eventually the very perceptive Mr. Johnson would catch on and decide that negative persuasion might be more effective than positive.

"Mr. Johnson," said Curry, exaggerating his western accent and poor grammar in order to make Heyes look even more sophisticated than he really was, and to make Johnson feel superior to the simple fast gun outlaw. "You must not have heard – Heyes and me, we've gone straight. We're tryin' to do the right thing by folks. You may not understand why we'd do it, but it's important to us. You ain't told us nothin', least ways nothin' I've heard, that tells us why we oughta' go and mess that up after more'n seven years of work. You got somethin' better to offer?"

Johnson looked at the Kid in puzzlement. Then he began to laugh in a soft, nasty way. "It has just occurred to me what you are talking about, Mr. Curry. Amnesty! That is it, is it not?"

Now Heyes and the Kid exchanged really worried looks. If Johnson was on to them, their future could be extremely short and grim.

"Oh my goodness," continued Johnson, his voice growing softer and yet more threatening as he went, "don't make me laugh that hard! Do you really think that you would be inmates in the Wyoming State Penitentiary if that possibility were on the table? You are notorious felons! Give up any hope of being released. Go with my realistic and pleasant offer, gentlemen. The other way, only madness lies. Madness, suffering, and, if you continue to resist me, perhaps . . . death."

The Kid flicked his eyes to the side and saw his partner going pale. This was it. This was the time when the appealing offers would turn to terrifying threats. And then, all too soon perhaps, from words to actions. If the authorities didn't arrive soon, things would turn terrible. If Heyes was wrong, they had no chance. Even if Heyes was right, the tension was bad enough. The Kid remembered a guess that Heyes had made years before, about as the Kid had said at the time, "another man's character." The man had been Judge Hanley – who had let the boys go from the town jail after they had helped to locate a lot of stolen money and catch a dirty sheriff. So Heyes had been right that time, but the Kid had told his partner that the worry had taken thirty years off his life. If Heyes' current guess was wrong, it could cost the Kid all the years he had left. And even if Heyes was right, Curry could practically feel his short shaven hair going grey in worry and fear.

Johnson gave a cool look to each of the men before him. "So the answer you have for me is still no?"

"It is," said Heyes and the Kid nodded.

Johnson was no discouraged. "As you have said, Mr. Curry, murder is illegal, even here." The Kid cringed – only one man would know that he had said that – Crum! The man was in Johnson's pocket! "But a little light punishment, for discipline – the warden has no objection. It can be useful in correcting . . . um . . . violence. You could put up with a little light punishment, couldn't you, Mr. Curry? And perhaps Mr. Heyes as well, though he has proven how stubborn he can be. So perhaps it would be better to begin with Mr. Curry. You could endure a little punishment, could you not, in order to help your dear partner to make the right decision? I shall ask my, um, friend in the outer office to take it easy on you. His black snake whip will only remove a bit of skin from your back. Just skin. You've felt worse, many times. Neither one of you should worry about such mild punishment, right?"

Johnson paused and smiled. The partners began to sweat in earnest. Would the authorities come to save them? What an irony – to be eager to have the law come instead of dreading it as they always had before! The authorities might only be delayed – surely Heyes really was right? If not, the Kid would very soon have to decide when to use his one chance against Johnson – the gun with a single bullet.

Johnson's vile voice went on, "But then again, maybe you should be a bit more worried about our simple little punishment. Are you familiar with the germ theory of disease, Mr. Heyes? Are you?" Heyes swallowed hard. He was. "I am. Your background, Mr. Heyes, is in mathematics. Such a harmless field, I think, compared with my own former field – medicine. Oh yes, I was once studying to be a doctor. It takes so much work. But I did learn a few things before I left it behind." The Kid was baffled, but Heyes was beginning to realize the threat that Johnson was going to make. He looked at Johnson in increasing horror.

Johnson spoke just above a whisper, in mock kindly tones, as he explained his plans, "Mr. Heyes, if you continue to make trouble and you refuse to help me, you and your partner both will have reason to become very, very familiar with germs. As you know, Mr. Heyes, those tiny creatures, too small to see, can cause a man a lot of trouble. Or pain. Or death. Like when you had pneumonia a few years ago. Or when your partner here got an infection in a gunshot wound in his leg, I believe it was. Correct me if I am inaccurate. And if my assistant opens up a good area of skin, there's so much chance for an infection to take hold.

There are so many avenues for germs to enter a man's body, even in this place that is so clean, for a prison. A little of the wrong substance in your bath water, or your drinking water, or on your blankets, or in your clothing – well, the possibilities are endless. Aren't they, Mr. Heyes? Your prodigious brain can think of many more than I would take the time to mention. You would never know what to trust or what to dread, if you continued to cause me trouble and to resist my very reasonable offers, would you? And no one could possibly charge anyone with murder for administering a little mild punishment and having the man just so happen to die of infection later in the Penitentiary's excellent little hospital. Of course not. And no one will take your word – the word of a mere prisoner – against mine.

Oh and Mr. Heyes, I wouldn't take the warden's word on that little investigation. He's promised to do that more than once, and nothing has ever happened to me, as you can see. He fears me far, far too much for that."

With what both Heyes and the Kid had heard about this place – the men who had come out terribly transformed – they could have no doubt that Johnson's words were no empty threat. And Heyes, from what the inmates had told him the day before, had learned far too much to doubt how serious these threats were. There really had been men who had suffered from exactly what Johnson was threatening the partners with. If Curry and Heyes couldn't stop it, Johnson would do it again. He would do it to them. And more men would suffer after them. Johnson looked at them, slowly smiling. He was considering when to call upon his assistant – with the whip.

At that moment, the partners heard a faint but familiar and incredibly welcome sound. It was at least two wagons coming down the road and pulling up in front of the Penitentiary. On a weekday it could have been more prisoners arriving or perhaps supply wagons. On a Sunday, it could be only one thing, surely. The partner's exchanged a glance. Now they only had to make it for a few minutes more – the time it would take for the authorities to get from the front gate to this office. If they knew where they needed to get to within the prison – which they probably did not.

The other question was whether Johnson knew that he had anything to fear. Why should he? He had already dismissed the idea of amnesty, and indeed, any threat that mere prisoners could pose to him.

Johnson knew every reason that the partners should look at each other as their fear grew – he did not know how much of a plan the two could put together silently and swiftly. Curry shot a look at Heyes, then at the gun in Johnson's open desk drawer, and then back at Heyes as he gave a brief glance over his shoulder to where he had a gun hidden. The darker outlaw smiled very slightly. Their plan was on.

"And yet I am going to be speaking with the warden very frequently, as part of my program of rehabilitation, of course," Heyes said to Johnson, "so I will certainly have the opportunity to exercise my famous silver tongue on the man . . . Who knows of what I may be able to convince him. . .?"

"If you think that you will ever . . .!" Johnson was responding hotly and looking hard at Heyes with growing fury. As Heyes had the evil man most distracted, the Kid put his famous speed with a gun to use. He softly cleared his throat to make sure that Johnson saw the notorious gunman calmly holding a pistol on him and heard the gun loudly cocked. Johnson, who had assumed that the famous fast draw man was tied securely and certainly had no gun, was so stunned that he didn't even try to make a move for his own weapon. It didn't take him long to conclude that yelling for his man who was supposed to be on guard in the next room would be no use – where else would Curry have gotten a loaded pistol?

"Heyes, could you please go over and collect Mr. Johnson's gun?" said the Kid politely. "I know handcuffs won't stop you from doin' that real easy."

Heyes only laughed as he walked to the warden's desk and turned around to use his bound hands efficiently to take the weapon from the drawer. As Heyes was turning, Johnson yelled "Rogan! Rogan! Help me!" This did, as all three men had suspected, absolutely no good. The red-headed guard was still out cold next door. Heyes deftly picked up Johnson's gun and went back around the desk to hand it to the Kid. Now he had a gun in each hand.

"Gentlemen, if you think that a mere two guns will let you escape from this prison, there is a great deal that you have not thought out!" Johnson began, still sounding very confident of his mastery of this situation. He knew no reason that he should not be right about that.

"Quiet, Johnson," said Heyes with a threat lurking in his voice, "and unlock my handcuffs, please."

"I don't have the key here!" said Johnson defiantly. "And you will pay for your rudeness."

"Shut up, Johnson," said Curry. "I got a real itchy trigger finger after three days here!"

Meanwhile, Heyes turned and, with practiced skill, used his bound hands to open the door to the outer office. He checked and aw that the red-headed guard Rogan was just starting to wake up. Then Heyes stepped through the outer office and opened the door to the hall. "Hello! Marshals! Senator Warren! We're in Johnson's office on the second floor!" Heyes shouted at the top of his lungs. Curry could see Johnson start violently at that. He had had no idea that a Senator was on the premises and, what's more, on the side of two notorious prisoners. But then again, considering who was involved here . . .

"Now if you think that you can fool me into thinking . . ." Johnson began to say.

But then a loud voice echoed up the stairs. "I hear you, Heyes! We're coming with marshals! Are you both safe?" It was Senator Warren himself. Curry's blue eyes got as big as Johnson's blue eyes did but for the opposite reason. Johnson the apt brown noser had reason to recognize the booming voice, but so did the Kid and Heyes. Where Johnson dreaded what the senator's presence might mean, Curry and Heyes now began to smile. Despite their bold bluff, until this moment they had not been certain that the authorities really were coming with their amnesty. Now they could finally be sure that Heyes' crazy guess about the telegram had been right. They were really going to get their amnesty at last – if they didn't mess this up.

"Guard's waking up," said Heyes to Curry.

"I got a gun on Johnson, but there's a guard here! Come on up!" yelled Curry down the hall.

Instantly, there was the loud sound of many men running up the wooden staircase. A dozen marshals with drawn pistols came up the steps. The portly Senator Warren took a couple of minutes longer to make his way up the stairs, with his own drawn pistol in his hand. And a number of armed prison guards came with him, followed by the warden.

Another guard who was in Johnson's pay came running down the hall, but when he saw the large group of armed men who were there already, he came to a sudden halt and never drew his gun.

Curry herded Johnson out the door of the outer office at gunpoint, "This is a real, real dirty cell block warden named Johnson!" he announced. "I'd be obliged if you guys would take him off my hands!"

"I am a warden! These men are felons! They have stolen a gun! They are dangerous!" yelled Johnson, his voice getting higher and more nervous with every line he said.

Senator Warren laughed. "Those prisoners are on the side of the law!" he yelled, "Take Johnson prisoner and take that red-headed guard with him! I have good reason to believe Heyes and Curry long before I believe Johnson."

Johnson was still yelling shrilly, on and on, variants on, "It's all lies! They hate me! They lie about me!"

"Do as the senator says!" said the warden in a soft, strained voice, to make sure that his own guards caused no trouble. He knew that if Johnson was guilty, he was in serious trouble. He had allowed this to go on.

"Johnson's worse than any man here!" said Curry, smiling at the Senator. "Thanks for helpin' us out."

"Take him away, marshals. He will get due process of law, Mr. Curry," said Senator Warren as the marshals and guards escorted Johnson and Rogan away. The marshals took the still protesting Johnson down the stairs to put him safely in a cell, and the silent red-headed guard Rogan behind him.

Johnson's shrill voice grew softer and softer as he went down the stairs in handcuffs under heavy guard. Finally it stopped altogether. Heyes and Curry looked at each other and exhaled in relief. They had done it! They had conned Johnson for long enough. They made it through the day – and through seven and a half years of going straight. Now everything would, finally, finally, be alright. They hoped.

The senator looked cautiously at Heyes and Curry, in their rough prison uniforms and shaved heads.

"Are you men alright?" Warren asked anxiously.

Heyes smiled, "Never better, Senator! Thank you very much! How about you, Kid?"

"I'd agree, partner," said the Kid, sharing a smile with his partner, "Although I got to tell you, Senator, my partner ain't so good as he says."

"Ah, Kid, there's nothing bad enough to get in the way of what the Senator is talking about. That is, Senator, if you have for us what I think you have for us," said Heyes gladly.

"Gentlemen," said the Senator with a wide smile under his mustache, "let's go the warden's office and see."

The Senator summoned prison guards to come and unlock Heyes' handcuffs. Then the three men and a group of happy marshals and nervous prison guards made their way back into the halls of the Penitentiary and toward the warden's office.

As they walked, Heyes walked next to Warren. He said, "You were starting to worry me, Senator! I thought I must have misinterpreted your message. It was wait for three days in prison, right? The three nevers meant three days, right?"

The senator nodded, "Yes, boys, that's exactly right. That was the deal we came up with among the governors – a felony conviction and three days in the Wyoming State Penitentiary. You had to get some at least slight punishment in order to allow . . . um certain parties . . . to save political face. They couldn't let you seem to get off Scott free, even after seven years and seven months straight and all that money and criminals turned in. The three days were meant to be long enough to make you worry that it really would be twenty years. But it was meant to be a short enough time that you couldn't get into too much trouble. I would say that we miscalculated there. You boys seem to have a positive instinct for trouble. Maybe three hours would have been safer!"

Heyes asked, "So what kept you, governor? We were expecting you before noon! We were damned lucky to get off as easy as we did! Johnson was starting to talk about whips . . ."

"My apologies. Our train from Cheyenne was held up, gentlemen," said the senator with an embarrassed grin.

"Don't tell me!" said Curry, "Who was it? If I ever catch those guys . . ."

The senator laughed. "Not who, Mr. Curry, what. It was a fallen tree!"

The three men laughed, but two of them still sounded very uneasy.

They found a very shame-faced warden awaiting them in his office standing by his desk. Standing beside him was a little round, balding man with gold glasses and a large dark mustache. Senator Warren said, "Gentlemen, this is Governor Amos Barber of this great state of Wyoming! Governor, may I introduce Jedediah Curry and Hannibal Heyes!" Barber shook the former outlaws' hands happily.

"Right glad to meet you, Governor!" said Curry.

"I'm glad to meet you, Governor Barber," said Heyes eagerly, "Do those envelopes have what I think they have in them?"

The governor smiled and twirled his curling mustache happily, "I have some papers that you men have been awaiting. It has taken a lot of long hard work for these documents to come into being. Settling on the felony conviction and three days in prison before we would give these documents to you, well, I wouldn't ever want to go through negotiations like that again! But I know whose road has been longer and harder than anyone's. Here you are Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes! And may I say, 'Well earned!'" The boys smiled. They reached eagerly for what the governor handed them.

Each man got two large, cream colored envelopes with his name on each.

Senator Warren handed each of the partners a letter opener. "Gentlemen, will you do the honors?"

Heyes opened the smaller of the two envelopes with his name on them. He unfolded a stiff piece of paper nearly covered with elegant copper plate handwriting with a bold signature and a stamped gold seal at the bottom. Heyes looked up at the Kid, waiting until his partner had finished opening his own matching envelope. "Well," said Heyes, smiling, "We do appreciate the pardon, Governor! We will do our very best to be worthy of it." He shook the governor's hand again.

"Thank you very much, Governor! Like Heyes said, we won't let you down!" said the Kid, all of his teeth showing in a blazing smile as he also shook hands with the governor for a second time. Heyes, in his rough prison uniform, felt very self-conscious around these important men; it didn't seem to bother the Kid at all.

"Actually, gentlemen," said the Governor, "if what some of the guards have told me, and what I have heard from many other sources, turns out to be true, then I think we are far more beholden to you for helping us to address serious abuses here. Do I understand correctly, Mr. Heyes, that you have been promised testimony from every single inmate against Mr. Johnson?"

Heyes nodded. "You do, sir. They were all taking a terrible chance, but as each man heard the ones before him talking, he knew that he would have a lot of men to stand beside him. I swore to stand up for them as well. And I will."

"Me, too, Governor!" said the Kid. "I've got evidence on that man and I won't let it go to waste!"

The governor looked with respect from Heyes to Curry and back again. He said, "The authorities of Wyoming are deeply in your debt, gentlemen. We will take you up on your offer to testify. We owe you both a serious apology for making you put up with the conditions here, even for three days. And by the way, Warden, you are relieved of your duties pending investigation."

The warden looked crushed but not particularly surprised. He had exhausted all of his supply of surprise slightly earlier in the day when it had been explained to him what was going to happen with respect to his two most famous prisoners. Heyes couldn't help but grin at that. The investigator now was to be investigated!

"Go on, boys! Open the other ones!" urged Senator Warren, sounding nearly as eager as Heyes and Curry must be. This was a moment that he had worked toward for a long time!

Curry took the lead. He slit his large envelope and unfolded a pile of heavy creamy sheets of parchment covered with graceful writing that concluded with four signatures of governors and four gold stamped state seals adorned with bright colored ribbons.

Heyes thought that he had never seen his partner so happy in his life. And he knew that he was right. Jed Curry was a strong man who normally kept his emotions pretty much to himself in front of strangers, but he had been awaiting this moment for seven and a half anxious and dangerous years. Jed Curry blinked back tears of joy as he saw the word "amnesty" boldly inscribed on the papers before him. Perhaps no one else noticed the brief, bright sparkle in the Kid's eyes, but Heyes did. Heyes could well understand what amnesty meant to his partner. The Kid would not have to leave Cat and their child behind after all. He would get to be a husband and a father. He would get to live the life that he had always dreamed of. Or, at least, he would have a decent chance at living that life. And his partner could pursue his own marriage and his own dreams. It sure was better than rotting away in prison for the rest of their lives.

Curry didn't take time to read all of the articles through. He carefully set the precious stack of papers on to the warden's desk. The Kid, with a wide smile, shook his partner's hand and smiled and shook the governor's hand yet again, and smiled, and shook the senator's hand and smiled yet again.

Heyes gave his partner a fierce bear hug. As the men's faces came close, Jed whispered, "At last, Heyes, at last! Didn't know as we'd ever make it."

Heyes whispered back, "Yeah, Jed! We made it. At last."

Heyes then turned to opening his envelope and reading through the contents with more care than his partner had. "I see that our amnesty is contingent on our not committing further felonies, of course," he said seriously, "I see the condition of Jed's being a sheriff for at least three years is here, as we expected. And I am asked to make a good faith effort to get an academic position. In one of the four states granting the amnesty is preferred, but they understand that that might be asking too much. Won't be easy to get to teach at all, even if . . . Well, I would've tried even without the legal condition. But I also see that we can't use any aliases of any kind for any purposes whatsoever or we will forfeit the amnesty. I guess it's the only way to keep an eye on us and make sure we stay straight. That agreeable to you, Jed?"

"'Course it is, Heyes!" said Curry gleefully, "I'll be right glad to take my own name back. I'll be just fine and dandy. And Cat will, too! And . . . everybody." Heyes winked at the very relieved expectant father. Even to the governor and the senator, the existence of Cat and Kid's coming child must still be kept a secret until after their wedding took place.

Heyes also shook hands all around and thanked the important men who had made their amnesty possible. He smiled and looked very happy. No one but the Kid would have realized that this was not the brilliant smile that the Kid had seen from his partner in his happiest moments.

Heyes joked, "It's easy enough for you to use your real name, Jed, your name ain't Hannibal."

Or it sounded like a joke. But the Kid looked at his partner sharply. He was dismayed to see that, above a surface smile, Heyes' brown eyes looked very serious and perhaps even hurt. The Kid thought that far more was bothering his partner than having to use his detested first name. Curry wasn't at all sure that he wanted, at this happiest moment of his own life, to know what was worrying his partner. But he knew that something was.


	59. Chapter 59

Governor Barber looked back and forth between the two famous partners who were standing opposite him in the warden's plainly furnished office. He twirled his curling mustache and smiled, "Gentlemen, isn't it about time we got you out of this place? There are some people back in Laramie who are mighty anxious to see you."

"Yeah, but I ain't goin' nowhere like this, if I got a choice," said Curry, motioning to his black and white striped prison uniform. "You guys still got my clothes someplace?"

The warden spoke in a quiet, strained voice. "We keep all of the prisoners' clothing and effects in a special storage area." He called to his secretary, who was quietly mortified at his boss's sudden disgrace. "Hopkins! Go and fetch the clothing and effects of Mr. Curry and Mr. Heyes." As the slender young man hurried away, the warden said, "Your clothing and effects will be clean and complete. We are very careful about that."

"I'm glad you're careful about something," said Heyes sarcastically under his breath. There was a pause as the boys waited for their clothing to come so they could complete their exit from this place. Heyes paced up and down. The governor and the senator were meeting with one of their head marshals as they figured out what to do about administration until they could get a new chief and new cell block warden in place.

"You got my hair back there someplace?" joked the Kid to break the awkward silence.

Hopkins the secretary shortly reappeared with his arms full of clothing. However, he brought only one set of clothes, which he handed to Curry. "Thanks!" said Jed.

"You can change in Mr. Hopkins' office, through that door," said the warden.

"Mr. Heyes," said the young secretary in a pained voice, "I'm afraid your clothing is missing!"

"Oh, great!" said Heyes, throwing his arms into the air with exasperation. Then he stopped and said,  
"Wait! I know what happened. The same thing that happened to a lot of your neat plans, Warden. Have a look in Johnson's office. You should find it all there."

"Hopkins!" said the warden. His secretary instantly headed off in the right direction.

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, he let me wear 'em for a while yesterday. Just part of his little campaign to convince me to work for him. I admit that I was glad to get clean and into civilized clothes for a few minutes. You'd be surprised what a difference it makes to a man's attitude."

"No, I really wouldn't, Mr. Heyes," said the warden, as Curry went into the next office to change. "Modesty. It's one aspect of remaking a man."

"Enforced modesty! So, just part of the plan." Heyes grimaced. He would be extremely glad to put the Penitentiary and its repressive plan behind him. "I've been remade before – but that time they wanted to make me a better man, not less of a man!"

The warden looked puzzled. "To what are you referring? I didn't think you had been in prison before."

Heyes smiled a little proudly. "I haven't. In fact it was two institutions that turned me around – the Leutze Clinic for Aphasia Patients and Columbia University."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Heyes? I'm not familiar with the malady of Aphasia, or what you would have had to do with Columbia University," said the warden, sounding only mildly curious and all too skeptical that Heyes could be seriously associated with a university. Naturally, the warden's own uncertain fate was of more interest to him at the moment than was the past of one of his most famous inmates.

Heyes laughed. He spoke with bitterness that made the warden turn in surprise to look at him, "No, I guess you aren't familiar with anything about me! If you'd read the transcript of my murder trial, or kept even a casual eye on the newspapers about the trial, you'd know all this. But no. You didn't bother. You just assumed that you knew all about me when you didn't know a damn thing! You didn't lift a finger to find out the truth! If that's the way you dealt with all your inmates, it's no wonder they're investigating you."

The warden cringed. "So that was why you were so angry that first day. I would be grateful if you would give me some explanation, since I did not discover it on my own. I apologize for neglecting my duties in that respect. Sometimes the administration of this place can . . . could be overwhelming."

Heyes shrugged. "Sure. I got shot in the head almost six years ago. That gave me aphasia – difficulty in using language caused by a stroke, or in this case, a head injury. At the clinic in New York they taught me to speak and to write again. And they gave me tutoring to make up for the schooling I missed growing up. Once I could talk and write again pretty well, I started classes at Columbia University. I was always pretty good at math. Liked it, too. The folks at Columbia knew what to do with that. When I get back to New York, I hope they'll be able to give me my BA and MA diplomas. It's supposed to be with honors. I don't know. They might not even graduate me . . . after this. A convicted felon – I just don't know . . ." Heyes' voice dropped off and his gaze fell.

The warden was genuinely shocked, and impressed by the accomplishments of a man he had taken to be a mere ignorant criminal. "A graduate degree! I thought you sounded educated, but no wonder you resented me for implying that you were ignorant. . ."

This finally roused Heyes' temper. He looked up and turned angrily on the warden, "Implying! You didn't imply it, you said it right out! More than once! Without bothering to verify your facts! They would never put up with such undisciplined behavior at Columbia! I wouldn't have put up with it in the Devil's Hole Gang, either! Get it right or don't get it at all!"

The warden pulled away from the well-justified scorn. Heyes was enjoying the formerly powerful man's discomfort. "Don't be afraid, warden. We don't hurt people the way your guards do! Not that we don't get tempted!"

The senator and the governor looked uncomfortable in the face of Heyes' anger, but clearly neither one blamed the man. "Heyes," said the senator softly, "have a care . . . there will be a trial. You don't want to endanger your own testimony."

Heyes stopped himself in mid-rant. "I'm sorry, governor. I have no intention of throwing away what you have won for us. It's just that when I think of what men have endured here . . . are still enduring here . . ."

Jed Curry came out of the secretary's office, having stayed longer than he needed just to dress. He had been listening to what his partner was saying. He had heard enough to understand what was bothering Heyes. He started to realize that, despite the physical punishment that Heyes had taken over the past three days, it wasn't imprisonment that was bothering him. It was the simple fact of felony conviction. It was what that might mean to Heyes and his future despite their pardon and amnesty. This time, Curry sure hoped that Heyes was wrong.

A prison guard appeared in the Warden's large office with his arms full of Heyes' clothes. Heyes stopped his diatribe and murmured, "Thank you very much," to the guard with scrupulous politeness. He wasn't about to be failing in the social graces in front of a senator, a governor, and a warden, not to mention his own partner.

Once Heyes was dressed, the party went out of the heavy guarded front door. Heyes and the Kid didn't look back. They never wanted to see this place again.

They got into a covered carriage that would carry the senator, the governor, and the two freed men. A wagon partly filled with marshals came along behind, although some of the original party of marshals remained at the prison to administer it and begin their investigation. There were also a couple of marshals on horseback.

As the senator was about to get into the carriage, he stopped and motioned over one of the mounted marshals. He spoke softly to the man, but Heyes heard him and flinched inwardly. Warren said, "Ride ahead, would you, and warn Professor Homer and the ladies not to meet us out front. I think more privacy is better. They probably know that, but just to be sure. Ask them to meet in Professor Homer's room. I'll meet them there and Heyes and Curry will come along when they've cleaned up some." The marshal nodded and rode off.

As the men walked out to the carriage and the wagon, Heyes softly asked Curry, "Say, Jed, how'd you get the gun from the guard and knock him out?"

Curry smiled with satisfaction. "The old pen trick."

Heyes looked at his partner. "What? I don't know that one."

Heyes grinned. "You ain't a sheriff, Heyes. Wilde taught me. It's a thing with a pen – I picked it up in our cell. A little pen with a steel nib can kill a man real easy. Go through his windpipe and cut his spine. Nasty, but it works, Wilde says. I just used it to make the guard look the wrong way while I punched him, though. Pen trick comes in right handy for sheriffs. Some ol' boy might get your gun, but who's gonna take your pen? Remind me to show you some time."

Heyes was repulsed at the mental picture, but he could see the practicality of such a strategy, "Huh! I sure hope I won't ever need it, Jed, now that I'm out of the violent crime business. But you never know. Professors do have lots of pens and maybe some angry students to defend ourselves from!"

The governor said, with a smile, "Mr. Curry, we have a little surprise for you. Miss Catherine Christy has come in from Louisville. And of course, Miss Warren and Professor Homer are here as well."

"Cat! That's great!" cried Curry eagerly. "She's well?" he asked in some concern.

"She's well, Mr. Curry, she's just fine," said the governor, who had no idea of why Curry would be anxious.

But then the Kid looked a bit put out. He glanced back and forth between the governor and the senator, who were sitting opposite the pair of ex-outlaws. "She's here already? You mean you told our gals that we'd be out a' that place in three days but you didn't tell us? You must've told 'em right off, or Cat couldn't be here yet!"

Warren nodded. "Yes, Mr. Curry, we did tell them as soon as you were out of the train station. And they were very upset about it, both of them. They . . . well, yes, they were very upset. They're been worrying – they'll be very glad to see you both! We couldn't tell you how short a time you would be in prison. That was a key part of the deal with the governors. You had to believe that you would be imprisoned for twenty years or more. You had to have every reason to believe that. I objected – mental cruelty is what I called it. But certain parties insisted."

"Well, so long as she's here and she's safe and comfy, I'm happy," said the Kid, his temper cooling. "I wonder if they have a chapel in town . . . You want to do a double wedding, Heyes? I think Cat'd like that."

"That sounds great, Jed," said Heyes without real enthusiasm, "But for our own wedding, I think Beth and I would like to wait to get back to New York. We'd understand if you don't want to wait. But we have so many friends there, and it's closer to her family in West Virginia so maybe they could come."

The Kid, puzzled and hurt at his partner's coolness, said, "Heyes, we want to see all those New York folks, too. I ain't never met a bunch of your pals at Columbia and I do want to! And Cat ain't been there at all. We can wait a couple of days. Not too long! But we can wait for New York, if that's what you want. And you got to be my best man!"

Heyes smiled at that. "Of course, Kid. And if you'd you be mine . . . If Beth still . . . I mean, I don't want to assume. . . If she still wants . . ." Heyes' voice trailed off miserably.

So now his partner understood the rest of what was bothering Heyes. He thought that Beth might not want to marry a convicted felon. Ever since Beth had first walked out on him, he had been plagued by fear that she would do it again, despite her protestations of loyalty. The Kid supported his partner, even against his own doubts. "Heyes, Beth wouldn't ever run out on you. She said she wouldn't and she won't. You ought to know that! And I'd fight any man who tried to get in front of me to be your best man!"

Heyes looked at his partner, and quietly changed the subject. "Jed, I just want to say that when we were in Johnson's office just now . . . well, I'd never have gotten out alive without you. I surely was relieved when you showed up, though I kinda' worried I'd get you into trouble that nobody could get out of. And when he started talking about whips . . ."

The Kid smiled at his partner, "Aw, Heyes, ain't we always saved each other so much till we stopped countin'? You were pretty fair yourself! I guess that'll be the last time we do that kinda' thing, the two of us. Though, like you say, you don't never know."

Heyes smiled a little at that. He wouldn't say it quite like that any longer – not now with a master's degree almost within reach! Almost all of his grammatical errors these days were on purpose, when he was joking around or trying to fool someone. Good grammar was getting to be part of him, except perhaps when he was very distracted or upset. But right now, he was hoping to still have a chance at the reasons he'd learned the grammar in the first place – to be a professor of mathematics, and to be Beth Warren's husband.

As the carriage rolled along, Senator Warren quietly asked Heyes, "Mr. Heyes, I hate to ask, but exactly what did they do to you at the Penitentiary? What Mr. Curry said . . ."

Heyes shook his head. "Nothing very bad. Not really. Not compared to what most of those poor guys have to deal with day after day."

The governor urged him to be honest. "Mr. Heyes, you will have to testify about this and the senator and I will be putting the case against him together. Can you please give us some hint of what kind of abuse you're talking about?"

Heyes looked away from the portly senator self-consciously while he spoke, but he kept his manner very casual. He hated to be pitied. "Beatings with a switch, or just their hands. One wore a sharp ring like it was on purpose to cut men. There are some bruises and cuts you can't see, but not bad. Solitary confinement in the dark on bread and water. That was no problem – needed the rest. Driving spikes on the railroad. That was the worst. Especially right after solitary. It was . . . hard. It might'a been worse for the Kid – he was holding spikes for me! And then they hung me by my hands in front of my cell for a while, but the inmates who were supposed to parade by and cuss me out or spit on me actually held me up and spared me for a good 30 minutes. And then it wasn't that long before the warden came along and got me down – I don't know, couldn't have been much more than an hour and maybe not that much. I didn't exactly have a watch. I think Johnson's talk about whips and infections was pretty near as bad as any of the physical stuff. That enough for you?" He looked up at the senator irritably.

The governor and Warren were trying not to stare too hard at Heyes during his horrifying recitation. It spoke volumes about Heyes' many previous experiences of physical suffering that he rattled all of this off so lightly. It was clear that he was far more concerned about the sufferings of the men who were still in the prison.

"And you, Mr. Curry?" asked the governor.

The Kid said, just as casually, "Heyes got it worse than I did. They hit you with a little whip kinda' thing when you talk or if you don't jump to it when they say. I got that a few times on the back and the arms. That was it. Outlawin's a hard life. We're used to a rough time. We'll heal up just fine. It'll take longer for the hair to grow back." He ran a hand over his soft pale fuzz, too short even to be curling yet.

When the carriage pulled up at the hotel, the marshals got out of their wagon and off of their horses and lined up on both sides of the walk to the hotel door before the men got out of the carriage. They wanted to make sure that the newly released celebrity prisoners didn't have to deal with gawkers or press.

But they did have deal with something more prosaic. The pair had to sign the hotel register. This would be the first time in many years, outside the closed worlds of prison, jail, and courthouse, that they would have to deal with a stranger who would know their real names. But also for the first time since they were boys, they weren't wanted. That would take some getting used to.

Beth men went up to the counter. The hotel clerk looked a little nervous about who these men might be who were accompanied by a senator, the governor, and several armed federal marshals. The Kid went first. He signed "Jedediah Curry" for the first time, other than in prison, for several years.

"Here you are, Mr. Curry, number 114," said the clerk, glancing up from the registers as he handed the Kid his key with hardly a stare at his very, very short hair and unshaven face.

Then Heyes, trying to be very offhand about this strangely big moment in his life, signed the register. He knew that he wouldn't get off so easy. So he signed "Hannibal Heyes" with a bold flourish that would have done for "John Hancock." The clerk looked down at the register, then up at Heyes, then back at the register, and back at Heyes. He swallowed hard and handed the darker former outlaw his key. The disconcerted clerk had to steady his slightly shaking voice as he said, "And here's your key, Mr. Heyes. Number 113."

"Thanks," said Heyes and went off to his room. He glanced back to the see the clerk staring open-mouthed after him, and glancing uneasily at the Kid. Heyes winked at the man and grinned. "Don't worry," he called back, "we ain't wanted no more." Heyes figured he might as well enjoy his celebrity. Now, after all, for the first time in 22 years, it held no more threat than a stare. The Kid only laughed.

"Gentlemen," said the senator as they came to the cage elevator, which was too much like a cell for the comfort of two of its passengers, "Why don't you both clean up and then meet us at Professor Homer's room – 112?"

While the boys were getting cleaned up, enjoying the unusual treat of running water, the senator went to talk quietly to Charlie Homer, Cat, and Beth. They met in the suite where Charlie was staying, which would be their headquarters in Laramie so they could meet in privacy.

The three good friends grouped around the senator, all talking at once. "How are they?" asked Cat.

"When can we see them? Why didn't they come straight to see us?" said Beth, anxiously.

"Are they alright?" asked Charlie Homer.

The senator said, "Don't worry! Don't worry! They're safe enough. You'll see them soon, but they wanted to clean up some. They need to bathe and shave. They didn't exactly get to do that often in prison. But ladies, I have to warn you, your finances were given a very hard time in prison. They look very different with shaved heads and they're self-conscious about it. The prison authorities say it's for cleanliness, but I think it's just a tiny part of the way they try to break a man's spirit. Never fear – your men's spirits came through in fine fettle! Mr. Curry just has a few cuts and bruises. Mr. Heyes is a bit worse off, though he's really fine."

"Oh, poor Heyes! I'm sure Jed's been through more than enough," said Cat. "I just want to get married and get him home."

Beth looked understandably frightened. Senator Warren tried to comfort her, "Don't worry, Miss Warren, he'll be fine. But he was beaten very badly and worked very hard. And there was a mild form of torture."

"Torture!?" The word understandably frightened Beth.

The senator felt terrible telling a gentile lady about such things. "They hung him up by his hands. He said it wasn't for very long. But after driving railroad spikes all day, it must have been . . . uncomfortable."

Beth was anguished to hear this. "You mean agonizing! My poor Heyes! You're telling me about physical abuse, but it's the mental abuse I worry about more. He's been through so much already. He was just getting reconciled to the worst of what went with the aphasia, which was worse than anyone really knows. And then being shot and so sick, and working so hard in school, and the killing in Montana, and the murder trial, and now this. With what he has ahead looking for jobs and probably getting rejected over and over, well, I worry."

Cat knew what no one else present knew that Beth worried about. If there was ever a moment that would tempt Heyes to return to drinking heavily, this would be it. And if there was one thing that would definitely destroy Heyes' career and life at this crucial juncture, it would be drinking.

"I'd better go and let you have your privacy," said the senator. "They should get here soon and they've had more than enough of me. Happy reunions and congratulations. Your men are being very brave, trying to help bring down Johnson - the brutal cell block warden who's been hurting men so badly. So you just let them know how heroic they are!"

"We will, senator!" said Cat. "Don't you worry about that! And we sure owe you a lot for all you've done to get the boys out."

"Yes, thank you so much!" said Beth. "We're in your debt, Senator Warren!"

"Thank you, Senator," said Charlie. "We'll be in touch with you, I'm sure, before we leave town."

It wasn't ten minutes before there was a knock on the door. The two women exchanged anxious glances – much as their men often had in the past.

Charlie opened the door to find Jed Curry standing there clean and freshly shaven, but looking very strange in his short golden fuzz and good suit.

"Congratulations, Jed!" said Charlie. "We're all very proud of you boys! Come and see Cat and Beth!"

"Oh, Jed!" exclaimed Cat, but Jed didn't say a word. He just took his lady in his arms and gave her a long, long kiss. It was some time before the passionate pair came up for air. Beth and Charlie quietly withdrew from the elegant hotel suite's parlor to Charlie's bedroom to give the engaged pair some time alone together.

Cat asked in a whisper, "Jed! Are you really alright? The senator said they beat you!"

Curry shrugged. He didn't whisper his reply. He wanted to be sure that his friends heard that he was alright. "Oh, not so bad. Just cuts and bruises no worse'n you'd get on any cattle drive. I'll heal up in no time. They got Heyes worse than me. Sorry, Beth, but they did." Beth and Charlie, hearing the Kid's voice, had returned to greet him.

"I know," said Beth, "the senator told us. I'm just so sorry that you both had to go through this."

Curry shrugged. "Well, we're gonna' swear out testimony for that man Johnson's trial, and try to help the men in that place. So we figure it's worth it."

"That's a good way to see it, Jed," said Charlie. "This state should be really grateful to you."

"Thanks!" said Jed. "I'm just glad to be out alive, Charlie. And back with Cat. We want to get married right soon, right, sweetie?"

"Yes!" said Cat, and they embraced again. She wasn't showing her pregnancy yet to the casual observer, but she would be very soon. The Kid, holding his fiancée in his arms, could feel the changes starting in her body even more than he had when he had last held her less than two weeks before. He looked at her with a special tenderness.

As the quartet of friends visited, Beth began to get nervous. Where was Heyes and when would he show up? She didn't want him to feel embarrassed about a few cuts and his short hair.

Heyes, back in his own hotel room, prepared with trepidation to see Beth, Charlie, and Jim. He took his time bathing, shaving, and dressing in a good suit that Beth must have brought from New York.

It felt strange to Heyes to wear something other than the coarse prison uniform. That at least had hidden him. Now the former outlaw felt uncomfortably exposed. Heyes looked at himself despondently in the hotel mirror. He had no use yet for a comb; only a few hours more than three days after Heyes' head had been shaved, he sported less than a quarter inch of prickly dark hair. He wondered if he was only imagining a few extra grey hairs growing in at the temples and a few new wrinkles starting. The dark diagonal scar on his left temple from his gunshot wound in the head was starkly evident. The long cut on his left cheek, opened and re-opened repeatedly by brutal treatment during his time in prison, showed a vivid red against his pale skin with bluish shadows of bruising all across his face. Heyes saw how much strain showed in his face even beyond the obvious wounds. He stretched painfully – his back and arm muscles were still aching from his day driving rail road spikes.

"Not much of a catch!" moaned Heyes to himself as he went to see his lady love. The exhilaration of beating Johnson had been very short-lived.

Heyes dragged his feet as he went down the hall to Charlie's room. He was dying to see Beth, but not to have her see him. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't pure vanity at work; he hardly dared to define what it was. As Heyes got near Charlie's room, he heard the happy, animated voices of Charlie, Beth, and the Kid talking and laughing together. He felt like he would be nothing but a wet blanket.

Heyes knocked softly on the locked door to Charlie's hotel room. Charlie answered the door.  
"Heyes," he said softly. "Congratulations! We're so proud of you!" He shook his friend's hand, trying to hide how troubled he was by Heyes' altered appearance. With the bruises and cuts on his face, and the general appearance of depression, he looked much worse than Curry did.

As Heyes stepped slowly into the room, trying not to limp, he saw Beth looking at him. "Hello, Honey, Hello Cat," he said lightly. "It sure is good to see you! It feels like a lot more than three days!"

Beth tried to hide her dismay as she saw the strained, bruised and cut face of her lover and how stiffly he walked. "Heyes! Oh Heyes!" she cried, stepping into his waiting arms.

As they had with Cat and the Kid, the others withdrew to Charlie's bedroom to afford Beth and Heyes the privacy they so clearly needed.

"Oh, Beth! I've missed you so much!" Heyes tried to smile, but didn't succeed very well. In fact, he was close to tears.

"Darling," she whispered, "I love you! I've missed you every moment!" But as she went to kiss him, she could feel him wince. Even his lips were bruised.

Beth whispered, "Heyes, don't let me hurt you!"

"Don't worry. It's alight." Heyes kissed Beth long and deep, feeling better with every second that he was with her. And yet he couldn't help being in despair.

As they looked up at each other, he said, "I'm just sorry to look so awful. They did everything they could to make us feel like dirt. Worked too well."

"Oh, Heyes," said Beth breathlessly, "You can't believe any of those lies for a moment! You're wonderful and I adore you. We'll get married right away and you can get back to that promising academic career."

Heyes shook his head. "No, honey," he whispered.

"What!? No what!? What's wrong?" Beth whispered back, feeling the appalled gazes of their friends on her back even as they tried to pretend that they couldn't hear the lovers' words.

Heyes explained to her in a voice shaking with pain, "Beth, amnesty wipes the crimes off the record, but a pardon doesn't. A felony conviction is a felony conviction. The conviction remains on my record forever . . . ineradicable. The governors made sure of that. You know that Columbia won't graduate a . . . convicted felon." He paused a moment before he could go on. "And I don't expect you to marry one, either."

Beth stared at him in shock. "Heyes, are you offering to release me from our engagement?"

"Yes." He looked at her with eyes full of regret for a long, silent moment. "I wouldn't blame you at all. This isn't the way it was supposed to be."

But Beth's eyes were ablaze. "Well I refuse to be released! What do you think I am? Nothing on earth will stop me from marrying you just as soon as possible, Hannibal Heyes. I don't give a damn if Columbia is unreasonable about it or not. I love you! And don't assume about Columbia. They think an awful lot of you there. They might surprise you, Heyes. Ask Charlie!"

Heyes shook his head, fighting back tears. He didn't want to put his advisor on the spot and he was ashamed to be so emotional in front of his friends. Between his happiness at Beth's fierce support, and his sorrow over his doubtful academic and professional future, he was wracked with strong feelings.

But Beth wouldn't be discouraged. She walked into Charlie's bedroom where Charlie and the Kid and Cat were gathered. Heyes trailed after her unhappily. "Charlie! Is Columbia going to give Heyes his hard-earned diplomas? He's getting all anxious about it and he won't listen to reason. They have to graduate him! Don't they? He's earned it!"

Charlie paused before his spoke. He didn't dare to build up false hopes. "He surely has earned it, Beth. But I don't know. There aren't neat rules for something like this. Things have happened so fast, and you know how slowly university bureaucracies operate. I just don't know. We'll have to submit it to the deans in charge and to the President of the University. I think they should graduate him, but the change of names could cause problems, as could the felony conviction. It's a very unusual situation and I can't predict how the powers that be will react."

Charlie looked at Heyes sorrowfully, "Son, you may be right to worry, I'm afraid. I hope it'll all work out. But I just am not at all sure what the deans and the President will say."

Heyes only sighed in resignation to his lot. He was used to waiting for people in power to make big decisions about his future. Having Charlie call him son almost made things worse. It just raised the stakes even more.

But Beth was furious. "We can't leave Heyes in suspense! We'll have to go right down to New York on the train tomorrow and make our case! We'll make them graduate him! With the honors he's earned!"

"Sorry, honey, but we can't go yet," said Heyes, reluctantly. "I promised, and Jed promised, that we'd stick around here and swear out testimony against Johnson. That's bound to take at least a day or two. Could be more. There's a lot of . . . information to cover. There are over 60 men in that prison and every one of them told me stuff about Johnson. And every one of them deserves justice." He opened and closed his right hand experimentally. Heyes winced at the lingering soreness from spike driving and hanging by his hands. "I'm not looking forward to all the writing."

What he didn't say, but Beth understood, was just how very, very tired he was. Physically and emotionally, he was worn out. But he had more to do before he could rest. He had a lot more to do.

"Darling, you're my hero!" said Beth. "And you will be for all of those men, too. You both will be!" Heyes kissed her again, this time without quite such fierce doubts.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After a quiet room service dinner in Charlie's suite, Heyes went back to his room to get some sleep. The Kid was still chattering with Cat, but Heyes said good-night to Beth and excused himself early. The excellent bed in the finest hotel in town felt absurdly comfortable. He had stripped down to his summer undershorts, having no suitable night clothes with him. The bruises and cuts on his body looked out of place against the pristine white linen sheets.

Heyes had a hard time falling asleep. His body was still aching and his mind was full of worries. He was terribly lonesome. In such a proper place, with strangers all around the possibility of press, of course he couldn't share a room with Beth.

Heyes reached into the night stand and found that regular comfort of lonely travelers, the Bible. He opened it at random and found himself reading the Song of Solomon: "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine." Heyes closed the book, overwhelmed with longing for his own love.

But now there was a very soft knock at Heyes' door. The knock wasn't on the front door into the hall. It was on the side door of his room, leading into the room next door. A familiar and welcome voice whispered, "Heyes! It's me! Let me in!"

Heyes scrambled to his feet and opened the door with a happy laugh. All his aches and worries and fears were forgotten as he took Beth in his arms and carried her back to his big hotel bed.

"Darling," he murmured in his throatiest, sexiest voice, "now I'm really free!"

Beth chuckled deep in her throat as Heyes unbuttoned her blouse a bit at a time and kissed her lower and lower and lower.


	60. Chapter 60

"Darling!" Beth's soft voice woke Heyes from a deep sleep. He started violently and looked around frantically for a moment, forgetting where he was. He relaxed gladly as he saw soft rays of early morning sun reaching through his hotel room's curtains to illuminate a curvaceous nude Beth in the bed next to him. Heyes smiled and reached for Beth. She kissed him on a prickly, unshaven cheek. She whispered, "Heyes, I've got to get back to my own room before room service gets here with breakfast. Bye 'til later."

Heyes yawned. He kissed Beth tenderly, and lay back down. His voice was dull and hollow with sleep and his eyes had already begun to drift closed again. "Bye honey! Can't wait 'till you don't have to leave." He yawned again. "Sorry, Beth. I'm so tired I can't think straight. I can't remember when I last had a good night's sleep. Sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"I know what you meant! I couldn't miss the nightmares." Beth ran a loving hand gently across her beloved's cheek stopping just short of the ugly red wound that she knew would scar him for life. She kissed Heyes again and looked at him with worry in her eyes. "After all you've been through here and in Montana and New York before that, it's no wonder. Sorry to wake you so early. But I've got to go make my own bed look slept in. You and I don't need any more scandal than we've already got." Beth pulled a silk night gown on over her head. She wrapped her robe around herself and climbed out of bed. She crept through the side door back to her own room.

Heyes looked fondly after Beth, trying to visualize what it would be like to be married to her. They had wanted it for so long. But what would it be like to have amnesty, to be married, have a master's degree - maybe, to have a regular job or maybe a career, maybe even to be a father? It couldn't be more different than most of his life had been, drifting across the West, or high-tailing it with the Kid by his side and no hope of certainty. He hoped to keep the good things from his past – good friends and the beauties and freedoms of the West. But aside from that, the future he wanted involved so many new things that his sleepy brain couldn't cope with them all. He didn't know if he would what he wanted, or if he even deserved to. But Beth thought he did. Heyes smiled as he fell back to sleep.

Meanwhile the Kid and Cat were going through much the same thing in the Kid's room across the hall, except that the Kid was a whole lot more awake than Heyes was. He had slept just fine, after the interesting events of earlier in the evening. "Ah honey, don't go yet!" pleaded Curry as Cat kissed him and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Our first morning with amnesty! We got to celebrate!"

"Not that way, Jed," said Cat. "I can't get caught in your bed. And you've got all those statements to make later!"

Curry chuckled, saying "You're a hard woman!" He ever so gently touched his fiancée's bare belly. "You got names in mind, Cat?"

Cat said, "What about Joshua? Sure can't use Hannibal!"

The Kid grinned and replied thoughtfully. "Joshua. Sounds good to me. Won't be using it for Heyes anymore! Hope it'll make him happy. Though maybe he and Beth'd like the name for a boy of their own. You know it was his Pa's name. What if it's a girl?"

"Don't you have some favorite girls' names, Jed?" Cat asked as he put on her robe and started combing the tangled from her long blonde hair with her fingers.

Curry "Yeah! Catherine! But that's taken. What about Elena for your ma? It's so pretty – like her daughter.

Cat smiled warmly. "Jed Curry, how'd you get so darned sweet? You're makin' it hard for me to leave . . ."

"That's the idea!" Curry kissed Cat and tried to pull her back into bed, but she stepped back playfully.

"Uh-uh, Jed, I got to go," said Cat.

Reluctantly giving up on the idea of a morning session of love making, Curry turned to discussing practical plans in a soft voice just above a whisper. "You know Heyes and Beth don't want to get married 'til they get back to New York – where they got lots 'a friends. Or that's what Heyes was thinkin'. But I bet they ain't had time to talk about it much."

Cat understood how considerate they needed to be, as part of such a close quartet of people. "We'd better wait and talk to Heyes and Beth before we plan anything. Just so long we get hitched soon! I don't want to be showing before we're Mr. and Mrs."

Curry nodded. "You bet, Cat! We'll do what we got to here. Then we'll go down to New York so Heyes can graduate. Then we can all get married. Or us two can get married here and then just go and be with them there for their wedding. Heyes said he'd be fine either way, and Beth'll feel that way."

"If he graduates," Cat said, sounding worried, "If they don't let him, I don't know what he'll do. I mean, maybe he can't teach right off, but there's so many things he can do with those degrees. Without 'em . . . ?"

The pair stopped talking as they heard someone going down the hall. It sounded like the help was up and about. "I know you got to go, sweetie," said Curry. "See you in Charlie's room for breakfast." Curry kissed Cat once more and she escaped out the side door.

When everyone was clean and dressed, the two couples and Charlie got together in his room. The two women sat together talking quietly on a love seat as they ate on a low table, each glad to have the understanding of the other at what was still a tense time despite the amnesty. The ladies stayed on fairly safe topics while the men were still within ear-shot.

"You're sure you don't mind waiting until we get to New York, Cat?" asked Beth as she buttered a piece of toast. "It doesn't have to be a double wedding. We can do one at a time, just as long as we're at yours and you're both at ours."

Cat smiled, "Aw, I think the boys'd like a double wedding." She glanced across the room at her intended, who was sitting gathered around a desk with his partner and Charlie. "They pretend it doesn't matter, but after all these years it'll mean a lot. A couple days won't make much difference to me. We've got to go to New York anyhow so we can see Heyes' graduation and your wedding. And I want'a meet all the New York folks. And Jed hasn't met a bunch of them yet, either. It'd be real nice if your sister and her husband and their kids could come from West Virginia. I don't guess your aunt is up to traveling like that."

Beth shook her head. "You're right. She'd like to come and meet my mystery man, but she's not up to it. I hope my sister and her family can come, but they sure will be surprised. You know I haven't been able to tell her who he really is, though she knows he's no regular grad student."

"That's for sure!" said Cat with a grin as she speared an egg with her fork. "I'll send word to our Colorado folks and see who can get there, once we get a time and a place. You folks got a church picked out?"

Beth nodded. "I think so. Heyes went to a Methodist church with Charlie and Marie a few times. We got to know their minister a bit. If you folks are alright with it, while the boys are doing their testifying Charlie can wire off to the minister and see if he can find time for us. I was raised Episcopalian, but I won't make a fuss about it. What about you, is Methodist alright for you?"

Cat shrugged, "I was raised Baptist, like the boys, but in Louisville, I like the Methodist minister. I've been to some services at his church and Jed's come now and then. The minister'll speak to us. That's more than most folks will do, even not knowing who Jed really is! So I'm glad to go with a Methodist if he won't kick up rough about who we're marrying."

"I hope the minister won't make trouble. It would upset Heyes," said Beth, trying to pretend that it wouldn't hurt her to be scorned by a man of God. Cat, of course, knew better. Beth had easily the most proper background of anyone in the room. Reconciling herself to being associated with an outlaw had been terribly hard for her.

Cat grinned. "Poor Charlie will have some fast explaining to do to the minister!"

Beth shrugged. "Actually, Heyes thinks the minister is such a good man that he thought about telling him who he really is. Heyes never actually did it, but he thinks it'll be fine."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, the men were talking about less agreeable subjects. "Like I said before, I talked to Cole at the court house yesterday about your testimony," said Charlie, adjusting his tie. "He said be there at 10:00."

"Yeah," said Heyes, hardly paying any attention to his breakfast, "I appreciate your saving us from making a trip over there yesterday to set it up. We were both pretty tired yesterday and . . . you know."

Charlie nodded. "I understand. After what you two went through . . . I know you weren't up to talking law with Cole. I wonder if you are now. We could always put it off a day or two . . ."

Heyes shook his head. "Not on my account! I just want to get it over with, fast as we can. I want to be sure we do it soon so I can remember all those men and what they said to me while I was hanging up. That's a lot of men and they had some pretty awful stories to tell. I don't know if they're all true, but lots of them could be proven pretty easily one way or the other. The abuse they're talking about leaves marks. And sometimes bodies."

"I'll be glad to get passed it, myself," agreed the Kid, between shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. Heyes might neglect food when he was anxious, but the Kid never did.

Heyes said, grimly, "I'm just glad we could get Hardin Cole again. He'll keep it bearable, if anyone can."

"Yeah, I guess," said Curry, straightening his jacket. He felt naked to be going out into the street of this tough western town without his gun on his hip. There was no use in wearing a gun to a courthouse. "But the guy who really knows it all still ain't here!" He raised his voice so the women could hear him, "Anybody got any word from Lom yet?"

"No," said Cat. "Not a peep. I sent a telegram yesterday and one the day before and got nothing back. And we never heard through the trials. Not even anything from Isabelle. I'm worried."

"Now I am, too!" said Heyes, combining his hand through where his long hair had used to be. The habitual gesture had no practical purpose until his hair grew back long, but he had always done it when he was feeling self-conscious. "Well, Lom or no Lom, we'd better get over to the courthouse."

Beth met her fiancé at the door and kissed him. "You're a good man, Hannibal Heyes. I'm proud of you!"

Heyes caught Beth up his arms and kissed her soundly. He whispered to her, "I remember when you first told me that. Not many people agreed with you, then. Not even me. I hope we can convince some folks now!"

"What about some university presidents?" said Beth. Heyes flashed his lady the brightest grin she had seen from him since well before his arrest. But after he walked out the door, the grin vanished. He was steeling himself to try to convince the law to give justice to criminals. That would never be easy.

"And I'm proud of you, Jed Curry!" said Cat. He smiled with pleasure and gave her a quick kiss as the boys left.

Curry, too, turned very serious as he headed for the courthouse. The partners faced no actual legal threat that they knew of, but there was no doubting that it was hard for them to get out of the habit of being nervous around lawmen. Even the Kid, who was about to become a lawman himself, felt his heart beating a little faster than usual. It was a bit hard for them to stop thinking that the law would turn on them yet again. The pair fell into step side by side.

As the door closed, the two women left in Charlie Homer's hotel suite looked at each other. Now they could speak more freely.

"I got to tell you, Beth," said Cat. "It seems peculiar to me that Heyes is so worked up about Columbia. He's their boy, isn't he?"

Charlie looked at Beth and she gaze back in question. Cat and the Kid came from a whole different realm than the one where Charlie and Beth were at home. It was a realm that defended itself behind high walls and a heavily guarded door that Heyes was trying to batter down against all odds. How could the academics possibly hope to explain to the westerner what Heyes faced? Heyes himself was still figuring it out.

Charlie, as Heyes' advisor, took on the ticklish job. Beth could tell that Charlie was feeling his way as he spoke, explaining to himself as much as to Cat. "It's not that simple, Cat. Joshua Smith was their boy. He came from the wrong side of the tracks and had to scrap just to start school, but he worked hard and he did real well. They got to be proud of him. Hannibal Heyes is so foreign to those top academic guys at Columbia that they might not even admit he's human. Just by being who he is – or who he was - he breaks every rule they have. They don't know what to do about him. They know they couldn't trust his past – can they trust his future? Can they be sure of what he'll do next? I mean, he killed a guy while he was a student there! That's more than embarrassing to Columbia – it could be disastrous to our standing in the academic world." Cat was watching Charlie's eyes as carefully as she was listening to his words. She could see that he was honestly distressed not only for his student and friend, but for his school, his other students, and his colleagues.

"This is all new to the president and the deans - and really scary. If they give out degrees lightly and the rest of the field disagrees, they could lose the money and respect they need to operate the whole school. They could endanger the trust on which any university is built. They have to figure out a way to go that's fair not only to Heyes himself, but to all of their other graduates and to their trustees and professors and to all of the young men and women coming along after Heyes. The degrees they grant have to mean something dependable. If a man can lie about who he is and still get credit for his work, does that destroy the meaning of his degrees and everyone else's? Or does the pure work count, regardless of the man. It's a lot to figure out."

Cat's face was filled with profound concern. "I hadn't thought about it that way, Charlie. Professor Homer, I should say. If the top guys do one thing for one guy, it could really cause all that trouble for hundreds of guys?"

"Thousands, Cat," said Beth solemnly. "And Heyes knows it. He could probably give you a pretty exact count of graduates from Columbia."

Cat's blue eyes were big. "Sounds a lot safer for the Columbia big wigs to just say no to Heyes." Charlie nodded. "But it would be wrong! He's earned those degrees! It's wouldn't be fair to him!"

"That's right," said Charlie. "They know that. So you see their dilemma. And so does Heyes. Believe me, he's given it a whole lot of thought. Some of those young guys, and women, who will be coming along to graduate after him are his close friends and even his students. What happens with him will reflect on them when they go to graduate and apply for jobs. The tie between graduates of the same school is very strong. He would never want to harm his fellow Columbians, any more than he'd want to hurt the Kid or you."

"Wow!" Cat shook her head. "Poor Heyes!"

"Yeah, but I've been thinking about Jed, too," said Charlie quietly. "If Heyes breaks the rules of academia, what about Kid Curry with sheriffs? And Sheriff Curry with outlaws? He's as brave a man as there is in the world, but he must be getting a bit antsy about wearing that badge."

Cat nodded. "Yeah. He doesn't say much about it, but I know he's thinkin' about it. He's thinkin' a whole lot and doin' what he can to be ready. He sure knows there'll be guys gunnin' for him. Not every sheriff would stand up for Kid Curry. He can look after himself. He's still real, real fast for all he's gettin' near to 36 years old. He'll have some good deputies in Louisville – men he trusts and they trust him. But nobody can watch Jed's back all the time. Nobody but Heyes. And nobody knows where Heyes is gonna be, come September."

Beth nodded. "Not even Heyes."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes and the Kid walked slowly and reluctantly down to the hotel lobby and across the ambitiously over-decorated space, with its potted palms and ornate chandeliers. As they headed toward the door the bell captain called to them. "Mr. Heyes, Mr. Curry!"

"What?" asked the Kid, turning on a dime and coming to a sudden halt with his right hand instinctively reaching for where his gun usually was. "We got to get down to the courthouse." Heyes stopped at his partner's side. He looked back to check the time on the hotel's big lobby clock. It was 9:35. His own old pocket watch was still someplace back in New York along with the effects that had been taken from him after his arrest at the dance in Central Park. It seemed years ago to him now.

The grey-haired bell captain said, "There some press out there with a camera. I'm guessing they're waiting for you gentlemen. We would be happy to take you over to the courthouse in the hotel's surrey, if you like. It wouldn't hide you much, but it might spare you some awkwardness in the street. I can't imagine that you want to be interrogated by the press while you're trying to look after your private business."

Heyes looked quizzically at the man. "What do you care? I mean thank you very much, but why, considering who we are?"

The bell captain drew himself up with dignity. "Whatever else you may be, Mr. Heyes, you are both now guests at this hotel. It is our job to do all we can to help your stay to go well."

The Kid smiled. "Thanks! That's how Cat and I see it, too, sir. We got a hotel in Colorado, I mean, so we try to do the same. I'm sorry if we're botherin' you folks. We can't help bein' who we are. We've gone straight and got amnesty, but I guess it'll take time for folks to stop makin' trouble over us. We're right grateful to you for helpin' us out."

"Yeah, thanks," said Heyes, regretting his earlier assumptions. "Sorry – we just aren't used to anyone but close friends doing anything for us once they know our names. Being, as Mr. Curry says, who we are. We do appreciate it."

"It is our pleasure, sir!" said the bell captain with a proud smile.

A camera's flash powder went off as the notorious former outlaws rode by in the surrey, but the driver hurried the horses and they were gone before anyone from the press could harass them any further. Soon the boys arrived at the courthouse steps. Heyes and the Kid exchanged uneasy glances as they climbed the stairs.

As they walked down the long entry hall, the Kid ran a finger inside of his shirt collar and asked his partner, "It ain't that hot in here really, is it?"

"Last time we were in a courthouse was more than hot enough for me, Jed," said Heyes with a nervous grin. "I guess we're safer now and we aren't in chains, but it still makes me sweat."

"Don't worry, Heyes!" said a friendly voice. Hardin Cole came out of a hallway door and gave the partners a brilliant smile. His hazel eyes glowed with gladness as he shook their hands. "Congratulations on your freedom! Justice at last!"

"Thanks, Cole!" said Curry with a sparkle in his blue eyes. "We're pretty tickled to be out."

"And right glad to have a good lawyer to look after us." said Heyes. "This kinda' place still makes me a little edgy. Law men all over, you know." A pair of marshals walked down the hall as they talked, making Heyes take a deep breath out of old habit.

The Kid followed the men nervously with his eyes. "When I think of how we used to run the other way when we saw a badge!"

"And that," said Heyes, "was up until yesterday! We haven't had a lot of time to adjust to the new situation!"

Cole led the two partners into a meeting room. "You'd better adjust soon, gentlemen, since Mr. Curry's going to be wearing a badge of his own real soon!

"I know! Oh, I know!" said Heyes with a playful grimace.

"Well, havin' a teacher in the family makes me kinda' nervous, too, Heyes!" joked the Kid. "Never been my favorite profession! Teachers done me more damage than anybody but lawmen and outlaws!"

Heyes chuckled. "We don't hit people with rulers in college, Jed! If you don't have self-discipline, you don't make it that far."

"Speaking of self-discipline, it's time for us to get down to business, gentlemen," said Cole. "Do you have your statements thought out?"

"Yeah, Cole," said Heyes. "I got to admit, it's gonna be long. I'm real eager to get everything we can on Johnson. But I hate the thought of writing it out with these sore hands."

"And I never was good at a lot a' writin'," said Curry.

"Don't worry," said Cole. "I've got a stenographer lined up to take down your dictation."

"A what?" asked the Kid, who had never encountered this four-syllable word before.

Heyes explained, "Somebody who can take real fast, accurate notes on what we say and write it out all correctly for us, Kid. I mean Jed. I know you want to stick with your real name now, but it's a long habit to break."

"I know, Heyes," said Curry.

Heyes said, "I am glad hear about the stenographer, Cole. I've got statements to make about more than 60 men! I was worried this was gonna' take all week!"

"So you really did get every man at the Pen to make a statement to you, Heyes? That's incredible!" said Cole.

"Remember who you're talking to and what I told you about myself!" said Heyes, "A confidence man works by creating confidence. I got them to trust me."

"How'd you do that, Heyes?" asked the Kid. "I been wonderin'. I mean, I know guys like that don't trust easy."

"But it was easy, Jed," said his partner. "I just told 'em I'd take Johnson down no matter what. They all said they'd be glad to have him gone, but he'd kill me. And I said I was more than willing to take that chance. Somebody had to take a chance or he'd be in charge forever. All I asked was for every single solitary man there to give me evidence against the man, if he had any to give. And they all did. Even Harry Wagoner came through. He's stupid, but he's not lookin' to be that unpopular. He could see I had everybody else on my side, so he went along."

"But Heyes," asked Cole, "how'd you ever get all those desperate criminals to believe that you were willing to die to get them justice?"

"Because I was," said Heyes forcefully. And the look in his eyes made it plain to the lawyer that his client was perfectly serious.

Cole opened his brief case and brought out a stack of forms for the boys to fill out. When they had finished that, they went to a waiting room while Cole checked on the office where they would give their testimony. The boys sat in a pair of worn leather armchairs while Cole went into the office and asked a secretary when someone would be ready to swear in his clients. He soon came out again. "Sorry gentlemen, there are a few folks ahead of you and nobody available to swear you in yet. They don't have a lot of staff here."

"No problem. I ain't hoppin' up and down to get in there anyhow," said Curry, putting his feet up on an ottoman.

"I'd rather get it over with," said Heyes, "but if we've got to hurry up and wait, at least we've got nice company." He smiled at a very pretty young woman who was with them in the waiting room. She was wearing an engagement ring. She had come in with a young man who had gone into the door marked "Wedding Licenses."

The young woman smiled shyly at the two handsome men with whom she was waiting. "I hope you'll be very happy, Miss!" said the Kid.

"Thank you sir!" she said. "I hope so, too!"

"You live here in Laramie, Miss?" asked Curry.

"Yes, sir," she said, "and do you?"

"No, Miss. My partner and I kinda' had to live in Laramie for a while, but I'm goin' back to Colorado. And my partner here'll be back to New York City, least for a while." Heyes looked at his partner with irritation. He often felt that Curry entrusted strangers with way too much personal information.

"Well, good luck to you!" said the young woman happily. Then her fresh-faced fiancé looked out of the office and beckoned to his sweetheart to join him and sign their license.

At that moment, a clerk put his head out of the office the boys were waiting for and called aloud, "Mr. Heyes, Mr. Curry, we're ready for you!"

The engaged couple stared open-mouthed at the men they had taken for ordinary, law-abiding citizens. That pair of names had been in the papers way too recently and way too prominently. Now the engaged young lady knew all too well why the boys had had to live in Laramie for a while – behind bars!

The young man put one arm protectively around his wide-eyed bride-to-be. They looked particularly frightened of the Kid, who certainly retained his fame as a gunman. Heyes put on a grin he didn't really feel and winked at the young couple. "Don't worry 'bout my partner. He's harmless!"

"Didn't bring my Colt!" smiled the Kid.

But the engaged paired hurried to close the door behind them, without a trace of a smile. As the office door closed, Heyes' face went very serious and he shook his head. He'd never seen their charm fail so dismally. Heyes didn't know what people had been reading in the papers during and after the two trials. He'd had no opportunity to read the papers. It must have been worse than he had thought. If regular folks didn't feel safe around the partners, what university would ever trust Heyes to teach their students and what town would trust Curry to enforce their laws? There was one thing for sure. It wouldn't be long before they had to find out.


	61. Chapter 61

"Heyes, we're losing our touch!" said Curry ruefully, thinking of the fear on the faces of the young couple on the other side of the door that had just closed. It had been a long time since the partners had failed to put a stranger at ease and make them smile – when they wanted to.

Heyes shrugged in resignation. "They've read too much in the newspapers about us with words like murder and prison. We need to save a little boy from a run-away stage coach or something to get our shine back!"

The Kid was determined to make at least his partner smile, "Or what about saving a pretty girl from a conman? That'd be a lot more fun – and less dangerous!"

Heyes chuckled. "Kid, you're gettin' soft in your old age!" The Kid didn't bother to correct the name his partner had called him.

The young law clerk who was waiting to greet the boys was smiling at their banter. "Welcome to the Albany County Courthouse, Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes," said the clerk, reaching out to shake their hands in turn. His eyes were sparkling with excitement at meeting the famous former outlaws. Heyes and Curry exchanged a little smile – somebody still liked them! "We surely are grateful to you gentlemen for doing all this testifying about what happened to you during your time in the state penitentiary. If you can please sign these forms, we can get started." The partners were getting to sign their real names often enough this day that the long out of use signatures were starting to feel familiar again.

The clerk gestured to two doors opening off of the main office. "We have a stenographer ready to take down testimony for each of you, so you can both get this done as quickly as possible."

Heyes and Curry each went to a separate small office with a stenographer and a policeman so they could swear out their testimony. Cole shuttled back and forth between them, helping with any legal questions that arose and keeping Heyes and Curry moving along with their testimony. Curry was done within a couple of hours, which felt like an exhaustingly long time to talk about things like enforced silence and being beaten. He felt for his partner, who had a great many more hours of tedious testimony ahead of him.

Curry rode the hotel's surrey back so he could be with Cat while they waited for Heyes to finish. The Kid and Cat used the side door to meet discretely in Curry's room, speaking in low voices. "Cat," said the Kid, throwing his good grey hat onto the bed, "I sure hope that is the last I ever hear of the Wyoming State Penitentiary. It's ain't a nice place. I'm real, real sick of talkin' about it! But Heyes, he hates it worse than I do and he'll be talkin' about it for days!"

Cat agreed. "He's a good man, your partner. Now if we can just convince some colleges of that! You're a good man, too, Jed. You're gonna make a great sheriff!"

"I'd rather run a good hotel and saloon!" The Kid grinned at Cat as he changed out of his good suit into his regular clothes. A few minutes of silence went by as Cat enjoyed watching her man strip down to his underwear and then change into his comfortable old western clothes.

"Jed," said Cat, suddenly sounding uncertain, "I've been keeping a good eye on our bottom line. Do you think, maybe, we could afford a little house?"

The Kid stopped buttoning up his blue shirt. "Well, maybe, if we scrimp a bit. And if Heyes and Beth don't need too much help getting' started. He's borrowed from everybody but us, so we got to be next."

Cat's voice was quiet. "Yeah, I know. And it's about killing him, too. So I know for us to buy a place is kind of a chance. But I've been thinking, Jed. A little boy or girl shouldn't be growing up around all those drunks and gamblers and prostitutes. Our baby needs a place that's really a home. With a garden and a dog and a cat, you know. I know it'd be expensive. Not just land and boards and nails, but paying somebody to cook and manage when I'm being a mommy and you're wearing your star."

The Kid smiled at his fiancé. "I know, Cat. I've been thinkin' the same thing, tryin' to put away a few bucks here and there. With a bit of a loan, if my name don't make it too hard, maybe. With a sheriff's pay on top of what we make from Christy's, we might could manage. I got my eye on a little plot just west a' town, truth to tell. The one with that pretty little maple tree on it right by the road – you know? Thought I'd make you a weddin' present of the land, then we can build the house together. What do you think?"

"Oh, Jed!" Cat threw her arms around the Kid and they shared a long, long kiss. Amnesty held plenty of joys for this couple with a third on the way.

As Cat freed her lips from the Kid's she said, "You know, it might be Heyes managing for us, and doing the books."

"I know," said the Kid quickly. "I'd trust him like nobody else. But I sure hope not. I mean, I'd be glad to have him and Beth in town. But it'd about break his heart not to teach, after all the work he's put."

Cat sounded frustrated as she said to the Kid, "The way he's going around right now, it's like he's assuming he's beaten. I mean, I don't get it. He always knew what he'd be up against to get those degrees, didn't he?"

The Kid wasn't sure what to say. He and Heyes just understood each other sometimes in ways that were hard to put into words. "I don't know, Cat. He's learned a lot about all the stuff with schools. And the murder charge and that stupid book and the stuff in the papers, he didn't know to figure those in until they happened. I guess you'd just have to ask him."

"I will," said Cat. Curry knew that she really would ask Heyes about it. She had more guts about asking hard questions than anyone the Kid had ever encountered.

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That evening, the partners and their fiancées met for another room service dinner together in Charlie's hotel suite. "If you don't really need me here, I'll head back to New York in the morning," said Charlie as he worked on a superb steak dinner. "I want to see what I can do to prepare the folks at Columbia to grant our MA candidate here his degrees. Do you want me to go ahead and tell them who you are, Heyes? With all the newspaper coverage, they might well have guessed by now; but I haven't actually told them. Of course, they know that something's been going on the last couple of weeks, since you didn't apply to graduate after that delayed date we already gave them."

Heyes paused over a mouthful of hot roll to consider the question. He swallowed his roll. "No, I think you'd better let me do it, Charlie. If anyone's going to mess up that little revelation, I guess it should be me. The deans and the president, they'll sure have a whole bunch of questions right off. There would have to be a lot of those questions that only I can answer. If you to ride to the rescue, I'll tell you." Beth noticed that Heyes' voice was already a bit hoarse from his long day of testimony. It would be worse before it was better, and tension was a big part of it.

Charlie took a swig of red wine and said, "Have it your way, Heyes. But I can tell them that you were unavoidably detained – that's for sure! - and tell them on what day we expect you to apply for graduation. And do you mind my telling them that you were having legal troubles?"

Heyes paused and gave this some thought. "Well, alright. They'll know the whole truth soon enough. But I think the word murder had better wait for me to say it. And probably armed robbery, too. How did we ever get ourselves so deep in trouble, Kid?"

Curry shook his head. "If you don't know, Heyes, then I sure couldn't tell you."

Charlie said, "Alright, boys, I'll play it as cool as I can. Just send me a telegram as soon as you know when you'll be done testifying so we can figure up when you'll get back into town. Heyes, I'm guessing you'll want to be in the president's office very soon after you get off that train, right?"

Heyes nodded grimly. "I hate to wait for bad news."

Beth put an arm around her man, "Heyes! It'll be good news! You'll see!"

Heyes smiled at her wearily, "Good or bad, I want it as soon as I can get it."

Beth turned to the Kid. "What about your getting your star, Jed? If you go to New York for Heyes' graduation and our wedding, will we be messing up your taking over your new job?"

Curry shrugged. "Doubt it. Seems to me Wilde's waited more'n five years, he can wait a few more days. I wired him about the amnesty and he sent his best. He said he looked forward to handin' me that star, but he didn't say nothin' about a day in particular. I'll send him another telegram and see what he says. We are runnin' up regular bill with Western Union."

The Kid looked back at Professor Homer. "We're gonna miss having you around, Charlie! Be lookin' to see you at our weddin'. You fix it up with that minister as a double weddin' and that'll be fine with us."

"Yeah, Jed and I talked all about it this afternoon," said Cat. "We'd rather have a double wedding if that's good with you folks."

Beth smiled. "Yes, Heyes and I discussed it, and that's what we'd like, too. I hope that minister really doesn't mind a double wedding involving two former outlaws!"

"He'll be fine, Beth, you'll see," said Charlie. "We just need to give him a date."

"Soon as we get to New York after Heyes is done here, seems right to me," said Curry. "We can wire to invite folks from Colorado before we get there, so they'll be ready."

"We're guessing it'll take two more days to get all the testimony done," said Heyes. "Then we can go."

"No, no, no!" said Cat firmly. "We can't get married right after we get to New York."

"Why not?" asked Jed.

"Heyes has to graduate first! It'd drive him nuts to wait!" said Cat.

Heyes looked down with a crooked, embarrassed smile. "Woman knows me! You're right, Cat. I'd like to get it out of the way first, if you folks don't mind. It's kinda' symbolic, I guess. If I can get those degrees, they give me at least a chance to support my wife in the style to which she has become accustomed, or better. If they let me graduate at all!"

"They will, darling! I can't tell you not to worry, but you need to have confidence. They do know you there, after all." said Beth, stroking Heyes' shoulder lovingly. She was just glad that Heyes hadn't heard the speech that Charlie had given to Cat after the boys had left that morning.

"I hope you're right, Beth," said Charlie. "I just hope."

Cat stared hard at the aspiring MA student. "Heyes, you've always known it'd be a problem for you to get those degrees. You always knew that you had to have backup plans, and you do. So why do you let it get to you so much? And why'd you go for it in the first place? Seems a mighty long chance for you to take – you're a man who knows odds mighty well."

Heyes waited a moment to answer, biting on his lip as he looked around the faces of his friends. He knew that Beth and Charlie understood all this at least partially, but he despaired of getting any part of his feelings across to Cat and the Kid. He looked down as he began, the lack of eye contact making the high-flown ideas easier to articulate. "I've always wanted to teach, ever since I was a little boy. I admired teachers more'n anybody I knew. And when I saw how Charlie taught, I knew that's what I really wanted to do. And, forgive me Charlie, but I also knew that if I worked real, real hard I could do it. Charlie makes it look easier than it is, of course. That's part of what a good teacher does. He's there to bring attention to what he's teaching – not to himself. And a lot of what Charlie's taught me is how important mathematics is in this new, modern world. If I can get that across to some young folks getting started, well, it's a way I can give back. I can try to make up for what I did to hurt people before. So that's why I want it. That's the easy part.

"It was, and it is, a long chance. But I knew the experience itself would be worth it. Whether or not I ever get to teach, I'll never forget what I've learned and who I've learned it from and who learned with me. My ma always said that nothing you learn is ever wasted. I'm sure she was right." This got the attention of everyone there – Heyes virtually never mentioned his family. And he never said anything about them unless it was very, very important. He paused a minute. In a low whisper, looking down at the floor, he added, "I hope she and Pa'd be proud of what I'm trying to do. I know they would'a been ashamed of nearly everything we did before."

Then Heyes' voice recovered and he looked up at his friends, especially at the Kid and Cat. "And, well, it's the way academics do things. They pick out targets that are real hard to hit and throw their hearts at 'em just as hard as they can. A lot of them don't hit the mark, but some do. They figure it's worth it to try. It's about as different from the calculated risks of robbery as anything could be. I figure academics are pretty brave folks, and well, good. So I wanted to be like that. We've been pretty far from good most of our lives, Kid. But I think we have it in us. I know you do, Mr. Sheriff. So maybe I'm crazy, but then again, maybe not." Heyes came to the end of his little speech with a shy little smile, blushing at the floor. He'd never said anything like this to anyone before. His friends felt like applauding. All they could do was to smile, and Heyes understood.

"Thanks, Heyes!" smiled the Kid, almost as embarrassed as his partner. "We'll see about that. I guess with both of us, we'll just see if we can make it. I don't know if I understand real well what you mean, but maybe I do. I have known you since I was born."

Charlie gave his prize student a particularly brilliant smile. "Heyes, I hope you can remember at least some of what you just said. If you can repeat that to some college presidents and deans, at Columbia and at other places, I have a feeling it would stand you in real good stead."

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Heyes left dinner soon after that, looking tired, but happy. Having the open support of his friends was a great help to him. Beth gave him a bit of time to settle in before she followed and knocked on that discrete side door. The ex-outlaw gave his fiancée a wry smile as he let her in. "Hi, honey. Did I make a total fool of myself with everybody just now?"

"Of course not, Heyes," said Beth softly. "You just got Cat and Jed in your corner even more than ever. And you're going to need them there." She hesitated for a minute as Heyes started pulling off his shoes and sock. Then she asked, "Heyes, was it hard swearing out testimony?"

Heyes sighed as he pulled off his belt. "Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes," admitted Beth. "You look awful tired. It was a lot of talking, but it must have been pretty emotional, too."

"It's just hard going back over it all, not being able to leave it behind," Heyes was pulling off his pants, which he draped carefully over a chair. Then, in just his white shirt and drawers, he leaned back against a stack of cushions in his comfortable hotel bed. "When I think of all the times the Kid and I broke out of jail and rode off laughing. Those poor guys at the pen sure can't do that! I keep feeling like prison's where we really belong. Not that I want to be there! But sometimes it seems like the past is never gonna let us go."

"It hasn't been very long, Heyes! For heaven's sake, give yourselves some time," said Beth, climbing into bed beside Heyes. She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "And stop feeling guilty for getting amnesty! You've earned it! After the speech you gave us at dinner, you ought to know that you can do a lot better out in the world than locked away. People are going to appreciate you!"

"Well, I hope so. But, there was this nice young couple in the courthouse to get their marriage license. They thought the Kid and I were real nice guys – until they heard our names! Then they looked as scared as if we'd drawn guns on them! Five years of college, trying to make myself all wonderful so I can serve American society. And people still think we're gonna rob 'em!" Heyes looked at the ceiling looking near despair.

Beth could see how badly those strangers had hurt her man. "Seriously, Heyes! You got out of prison yesterday! Yesterday! Nobody has any idea about your school work. You kept your real name a secret, remember?"

Beth started giving the tense former outlaw a back rub that made him wriggle his shoulders in pleasure. "Ooh! That's better! Thanks, honey. I guess I'm a pretty lucky man after all." Soon Beth had more of Heyes' clothes off and she was rubbing more of his sore muscles.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes made a serious effort and managed to get up very early the next morning to see Charlie off. Heyes helped to carry Charlie's luggage to the train station, which was just across the street from the hotel. The air was still cool and the sun was barely rising as they walked in the station's door.

"I'll do all I can for you with the deans and the president, Heyes," said Charlie as they stood on the platform together. "It might even be easier without your name. But after all the stuff in the papers, they're bound to guess it." Heyes couldn't help glancing around the platform at the few other people waiting for the early train east, to see if anyone reacted to his name. He wondered if he was imagining that the grey-haired man standing closest to the pair had heard and that was why he moved a few strides farther down the platform, keeping a tight grip on his suitcase.

Heyes gave in. "Oh, alright, Charlie, you can tell them if you think it's better that way. I'm sure the Columbia top brass will figure it out. Makes me feel naked now that everybody knows. But I just got to deal with it."

Charlie laughed. "They'll forget about it in time, Heyes. When people find out about the degrees and the brilliant work you did to get them, that's what they'll remember. Or the people who matter will."

"B.S.!" said Heyes harshly. Charlie only laughed. Heyes was right, of course.

They heard the train whistle in the distance. Heyes looked fondly at his advisor. "Thanks for everything, Charlie! You do a lot for all of your students, but I've sure asked more than anyone. I'll owe you forever. I just hope I get to ask you to a graduation and a wedding real soon."

The men shook hands as the train pulled in. Charlie stepped up onto the train and reached down to get his suitcase from Heyes. He waved from the platform as the train pulled out. "See you soon, Heyes!" he called. Heyes cringed at this loud use of his real name. Then he walked back across the street, imagining that all of the few people abroad so early were staring at him.

There was another long, exhausting day of testimony ahead of Heyes. Jed Curry stayed in the hotel that day, growing restless despite getting to spend so much time with Cat. They lounged around the Kid's room, talking and planning for the wedding and their new house and the baby. Cat was eager to shop for a wedding dress that would do Jed proud, but they both realized it would be much better to wait until they were in New York. Cat would find a better selection there and her fiancé was far less likely to be recognized.

Finally, as the afternoon grew late and Heyes still wasn't back, the Kid said, "Cat, I'm goin' stir crazy in this place. I'm going down the street to a bar, maybe play some poker. And you know, if guys recognize me, let 'em. I got to find out the gossip – see if word's gettin' out on us and what the word is." He looked at Cat, waiting for her to put up all kinds of objections. But while her eyebrows rose a bit during this speech, she had no reply. Jed asked, "Well, ain't you gonna' argue?"

Cat shook her head. "You sound to me like a man who's made up his mind. I don't want to be a nagging wife. You go off and play some cards and get a drink. You must need it by now! Just not too many drinks, please! It'd make it real hard on Heyes, you know. And you might get careless if you got drunk."

"Now woman, since when have you ever seen me get real drunk?" asked Curry in annoyance.

Cat grinned. "Since never, sweet-heart! And I don't want you to start now that you've got amnesty. I have a feeling you're gonna find out whether the wanted posters are still up on you boys or not. If there's any place the sheriff ought to know about your amnesty already, Laramie is it."

The Kid gave an emphatic nod. "Yeah, that's what I figure. The amnesty papers say the word'll go out around the country – they'll put up posters to replace the wanted ones. I guess it'll take time, but it ought to be on the walls 'round here by now."

"I agree. So off you go, Jed," said Cat. "I just hope nobody who's not up on the news tries to take you in dead and then finds out they're too late."

Jed glared at Cat, but broke into a smile. "We've put up with that for fifteen years!" he said. "I'll be fine. I won't volunteer my name and you sure know that most guys in saloons know better than to ask." Curry turned and buckled on his gun belt, tying the gun down safely. He hadn't worn his gun since the morning of the last day of Heyes' murder trial. It gave him more confidence to have it back on. Cat had brought it to him when she came to the hotel. Some kind sheriff who knew Wilde had sent it to her after the Kid had been arrested. Curry was also glad to have his very short hair mostly covered by his big brown cowboy hat.

Jed Curry walked out the door of the Golden Fleece hotel with the slow, rolling gait of a gunfighter, balanced and ready for anything. He tried not to be too obvious about keeping an eye out for danger. But nobody took any particular notice as a blue-eyed man with very short deep golden hair walked down the street and into the Bucket of Blood. With his hair too short to curl and no dark-haired, dimpled Heyes at his side, he was pretty hard for strangers to spot.

The Kid leaned on the bar. "Your best whiskey, barkeep!" said Curry. The man complied without a second look at the stranger before him. Curry tossed down some coins and knocked back the drink. It felt good. He'd had nothing but a little wine at the hotel, and of course no alcohol at all in jail and prison.

Curry soon found a poker game that needed another hand. He lost the first pot – always good policy. He won the next one, worth a good little sum that he would be glad to add to his savings for the house. "Where you from, stranger?" asked the dusty young red-headed cowboy next to him.

Curry, who was dealing next, gathered up the cards to shuffle them and answered. "Colorado. And about every place west of the Mississippi before that. What about you?"

"Little place in Montana you never heard of," said the red-head as Curry dealt out the cards with swift efficiency.

"Try me," said Curry quietly, taking up his cards and studying them with casual indifference.

"Lodge Grass," said the young cowboy with a laugh. "One for me, Mr. Colorado."

Curry gave the red-headed cowboy a grin with his card and dealt out more to the other four men at the table. "I know the place, son. I been there."

"You have, have you? We're famous for about one thing, these days. Kid Curry got kidnapped there 'couple a years back, and Hannibal Heyes came to get him out. But it was our local poet, Theron Wiseman, really got 'em both out. Did you know that?"

"I did know that, real, real well," said Curry with a laugh, as he looked down to grab some of his poker chips to add to the pot.

Before Curry could get his chips into the pot, he heard a pistol cock right behind him. Curry looked up into the mirror on the wall across from his chair. So he wasn't particularly surprised to hear Harry Briscoe say, with grand self-importance, "Hands up, Kid Curry! Harry Briscoe of the Bannerman Detective Agency has you under arrest!" The red-headed cowboy and the rest of the men at the table gasped and pulled back their chairs in a hurry. They quickly scattered away into the saloon floor, but kept watching what was going on.

The black-hatted Briscoe smiled around his cigar. "I got a Colt trained on your back, Curry, old friend. I need money and you're gonna get it for me with that big reward. You're comin' down to the sheriff's office with me. I'm in luck to catch you without your partner watchin' your back! Don't give me trouble or I'll be glad to take the dead end of dead or alive. You know me, Harry Briscoe, never soft on crime!"

Curry put his hands up, dropping his cards on the table carefully face down. He hoped to get out of this without too much trouble. "Sure, Harry, I can see the Colt real plain in that mirror. That's why the mirror's there. I won't give you no trouble and I'd be happy to go down to the Sheriff's office with you. But you won't get a dime."

"Huh? Why not, Kid?" Briscoe was startled.

"Amnesty, Harry," said the Kid with pardonable pride. "Heyes and me, we just got our amnesty day before yesterday. You'll find a special proclamation sayin' that up in the sheriff's office, here and in every town all over the place."

"You did? Amnesty? You don't say! So where's Heyes?" Briscoe was anxious not to be fooled, as he so often had been by the partners. He still had his gun trained on Curry's back. He reached over and got the Kid's gun out of his holster and stuck it in his own belt.

"Down to the courthouse swearin' out testimony, Harry. Surrounded by more marshals than you could wave a stick at, and not breakin' a sweat," said the Kid. "I guess he'll be done pretty soon. He'll be lookin' for me."

"Curry, you and Heyes think you're pretty slick, we'll you've met your match in me. I ain't heard a word about amnesty for you boys, so we'll just go and check that at the sheriff's office if you don't mind. Let's go. Now!" Briscoe gestured with his gun for Curry to get up and start walking, so he did. As much of a fool as Briscoe was, if he pulled the trigger from such close range, there would be damage done.

"Wait, Briscoe," said the red-headed cowboy. "I done heard about that amnesty. It was in the papers here yesterday. So this is Kid Curry? Wow!" There was general murmuring all around the saloon, making it clear that plenty of men had read about the amnesty and that nearly everyone thought it was extremely good news.

But Briscoe wasn't buying it. "You could'a bribed these guys to say that about the amnesty, Curry! We're going to the sheriff's office and we're going now!"

"What, bribed a whole saloon full of guys? You're not thinkin' too clear, Harry!" said the Kid, "But I'm goin' along. You got the cocked gun and I got plenty a' time." He addressed the men he'd been playing poker with, "Boys, deal me out. But I'll be back soon, so keep my chair and my chips ready for me, alright?"

"Sure, Kid!" answered a burly stock yard man who had been at Curry's left. The man's voice sounded a bit nervous. Amnesty or no amnesty, people had respect for Kid Curry.

A dozen or so people gathered along the sidewalks to watch Harry Briscoe take Kid Curry in to the Sheriff's office. There was much talk about the amnesty and someone started to laugh. Then there was more laughter from the gathering crowd as word from the saloon spread about who was being marched down to the sheriff's office at gunpoint. "You ain't much up on the news, Mister!" someone called. "Sorry, Kid, you got a fool behind you there!" Briscoe said not a word, but held his gun and chomped on his cigar harder than ever.

When they got to the Sheriff's office, Curry went first, opening the door for Briscoe politely. The sheriff and his deputies gathered to see what this fuss was about. "I'm Harry Briscoe of the Bannerman Detective Agency and I got Kid Curry here for you, Sheriff!" said Briscoe proudly. "He's tryin' to tell me he and Heyes got amnesty, but I want to see what you've got to say about that. He's a cagey man, Kid Curry, and Heyes is the same. I know 'em both real, real well!"

The sheriff laughed. "Have a look here, Briscoe," he said, pointing to an ornate broadside posted over the wanted posters on his wall. "I just got this proclamation yesterday and put it up. Heyes and Curry have amnesty! Not a penny on their heads anymore. Says they've turned in criminals and money aplenty and earned their freedom. So you got to let him go, Mr. Briscoe."

"No, he's Kid Curry! The most famous gunman in the West!" said Briscoe in terrible disappointment. "I've been waiting years to turn in Heyes and Curry and you mean to tell me that I waited two days too long?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm tellin' you," chuckled the sheriff, twisting his long grey mustache. "If it weren't for bad luck, some folks wouldn't have no luck at all. Two days too long! Don't know why you waited." He shook his head. "So put that gun down or I'll get you for reckless endangerment and unlawful detention. And hand Mr. Curry his gun back, or I'll get you on theft."

Briscoe holstered his own gun, handed the Kid his Colt back, and stalked off out the door muttering to himself. "Thanks Harry," said the Kid. "Better luck next time, Harry!" Curry called after the retreating detective with a laugh.

"Thanks, Sheriff!" said Curry, studying the broadside. "I'm sure glad to see that proclamation after all these years. That's as pretty a piece of paper as I've ever clapped eyes on."

"Congratulations, Mr. Curry," said the bandy-legged little sheriff, reaching out to shake the famous former outlaw's hand. "You're welcome around here any time."

"I never thought," said the Kid, "I'd ever hear that from a sheriff – not if he knew who I was. And by the way, I'm gonna' be a sheriff myself out Colorado way. So if I can do you a favor any time, just let me know."

The Kid walked slowly back down the street to the Bucket of Blood, shaking the hands of half dozen happy strangers all the way. There wasn't any way to hide who he was, now, so Curry figured he'd enjoy it. He went through the swinging doors of the saloon and found his chair waiting for him with a glass of whiskey on the table for him. "Thanks, boys!" Curry downed the whiskey and nodded for one of the men to deal him in. When a waiter came over he said softly, "Just beer after this, alright? And a sandwich if you got one."

"When's Heyes gonna come join you, Kid?" asked the red-headed cowboy.

"I didn't tell him where I was goin', but I figure he'll be here any old time," replied Curry. "We do know each other pretty darned well by now." He also knew that many, many people had seen him on his way back to the saloon. The guys at the Golden Fleece Hotel would have no trouble telling Heyes where his partner was. It was just a matter of whether Heyes wanted to take the risk of coming out where people knew his name. Beth and Cat wouldn't be happy about it, but Heyes wouldn't follow anyone's direction but his own.

A few hands along, the Kid heard the swinging doors squeak and there was a little commotion behind him. He looked up at the mirror and said, "Boys, you got a chair for my partner?"

"Sure, Kid! It's a big table," said the heavily-muscled blacksmith who was dealing. "Bob, bring us another chair!"

Heyes sat down next to the Kid. He had changed into his old western clothes and he wore his gun at his side. Charlie had brought it from Heyes' rented room in New York.

The partners exchanged a grin as Heyes was dealt in and paid out some cash for chips. It was the first time the two had sat down together to play poker in months. And it was the first time they'd played in public under their own names in many years. It might be dangerous for them to be seen in public, but frankly they were having too much fun to care that much. Winning some public support wasn't a bad thing for them, though Heyes would have to be careful not to look too disreputable. No matter what college presidents might think, Laramie was embracing the infamous Wyoming former outlaws. A couple of very lovely girls came to stand near the table, ignored by their hoped for customers. Men gathered from all over the famous saloon to watch the even more famous pair of former outlaws play poker.

"Beer, barkeep! And a sandwich!" called Heyes in a slightly hoarse voice. He fanned his first hand and looked at it. He saw two kings and two queens – one red and one black of each. And the ace of spades. It took a serious effort to keep a smile off Heyes' face. He didn't want to get careless, but Heyes thought that he and the Kid might just have gotten their touch back.


	62. Chapter 62

"The Bucket of Blood! Have they lost their minds, Cat?" Beth vented her anxieties as they sat in Cat's room. "Even I've heard of the Bucket of Blood! Men get killed in there! What if somebody shoots them? Or Heyes starts drinking? Or the President of Columbia finds out? Or it gets into the newspapers? The Kid should know better! And so should Heyes!"

"Calm down, Beth! It isn't near as bad now as it was twenty-five years ago," said Cat, the knowledgeable saloon professional. The women were looking out the window of Cat's room in the Golden Fleece, watching for Heyes and Curry to return. But they knew it would be hours before they saw their finances. "They're no saints, our men, and you know it. They sure do a whole lot better than they used to when they were still outside the law. But you can't afford to forget that you're marrying a Wyoming outlaw and so am I."

"Former outlaw!" insisted Beth.

"Alright, former outlaw. But you know very well that they were based in Wyoming for many years! Believe me; Heyes and Jed know the Bucket of Blood. And I know them. About this kind of stuff, I know those boys a lot better than you do. Listen to me, honey. The Kid never takes long chances at the table. He watches himself. And if Heyes is playing poker, he's not drinking more than a couple of beers. He's a serious player. He knows better than to get drunk at the tables. The charge he gets from winning is a lot more potent than anything that comes out of a bottle." Cat was trying desperately to calm her future cousin-in-law, who had very little experience with this side of her future husband. She knew him far better as a student, scholar, and teacher.

"Then what if Heyes starts losing? He doesn't have much money!" Beth continued to be anxious.

Cat stayed calm. "Relax, Beth! This is Hannibal Heyes, remember? He doesn't lose, or not badly and sure not often. He knows how to handle himself. Where do you think he polished his math before college? At poker tables! He's a master. And Jed's no slouch either."

"But when will they be back, Cat?" Beth craned to look at the men walking down the street out front.

Cat shrugged matter-of-factly. "I don't know. They have a lot to celebrate and a lot of pressure to blow off. Could be a while. Let's just go get dinner in the dining room. One thing I'm pretty sure of. They won't be back for dinner. I just hope they have a real good time. Who knows if they'll ever get to enjoy themselves in a saloon together like that again? If Heyes is teaching, I don't guess it'd look real good. He knows that. I guess it's his last hurrah."

"I hope so!"Beth touched Cat on the arm. "But Cat, what if there are saloon girls there?"

"What if?" Cat laughed. "Of course girls are there! With our boys' big names, and winning like they will be? You know there are girls all over! Like vultures at a kill! It's their job." Cat wasn't upset. Of course, she ran a place where such women plied their trade.

"Cat . . . does Heyes, you know, with those girls, when he's at your place and I'm not there . . . ?" Beth had never dared to ask Cat about Heyes and prostitutes before, but it had long been preying on her mind.

Cat was appalled. "Beth! I have to respect the privacy of my patrons!"

But when Cat saw what pain this caused Beth, she relented. "You should trust your man, Beth. He's worth it. You don't have anything to worry about. But don't you ever tell him, or the Kid, that I told you that! If they thought I was reporting in on them they'd never trust me again! Seriously, Beth! There's a code!"

"But before he was shot . . ." Beth wouldn't look Cat in the eye.

"You know better than to ask that. Seriously, Beth." Cat turned away and walked out the door.

Beth sighed. Every profession had its code. She knew that Cat and the Kid didn't really understand the code of the academic world that Heyes was entering – or trying to enter. But she didn't understand the outlaw and saloon world that he was coming from. To what extent Heyes would or could really leave his old world, Beth wasn't yet sure. If he taught in the West, Heyes might try to keep one foot in his old world. Beth knew that there were things he loved about that world. Heyes had said to her when she first committed to be his girl that there were some things he didn't want to change, that he was no choir boy. Beth was still wrestling with what that really meant. She got a charge out of Heyes' masculine western style. But some aspects of that life troubled her. Beth followed Cat out the door and down to the restaurant.

After dinner, Beth parted from Cat and went up to her room. She paced restlessly around, looking out the window now and then. At about 10:00 she looked at the clock on her bedside table again. She got undressed and got into bed, feeling lonely and unhappy. She was sure that it would be many hours before Heyes and Jed returned. She worried more and more about how much Heyes might drink. The Kid had discretely warned Beth that his partner rarely drank much because when he did, it could get very bad very quickly. So Beth couldn't relax for fear of what might be happening at the Bucket of Blood.

But it was actually a little before 11:00 when Beth heard some familiar footsteps coming down the hall and then heard the door next to hers open and close. Within minutes, she heard a gentle knock on the communicating door. "Beth?" Heyes said quietly through the door.

Beth wrapped her robe around her and opened the door. She was relieved by the relatively early hour, but still concerned.

Beth felt strange to be in her robe while Heyes was still equipped with his boots, hat, black leather gloves, and his pistol at his hip. Seeing her man in full western gear made Beth's blood race. "Sorry to go off and leave you tonight, Beth," he said in a slightly scratchy, very deep voice. The words were just very slightly slurred. It was no surprise that Heyes had been drinking, but he wasn't really drunk. "Hope it didn't bother you too much. Old detective friend of ours took the Kid to the sheriff's office. Harry's been tryin' for years to strand us in the desert with no water or practice extortion on us or somethin'. Was pretty sweet to finally let Harry Briscoe know there's nothin' he, or nobody like him, can do to us no more." The bad grammar didn't in itself bother Beth at all in this context, but the implications of Heyes' loss of control did. He'd been drinking more than Cat had thought that he would.

"Some friend!" scoffed Beth. Heyes put a gloved hand on Beth's shoulder and gave her a kiss. She couldn't help being a little restrained in her response when she smelled the strong beer and cigar smoke on his breath. At least there was no whiskey. Beth was determined that she would not make Heyes feel bad about such very mildly bad behavior. If she started nagging now, she could make things much worse. She was painfully aware that her prim background made her unrealistically sensitive about drinking, smoking and gambling. For Heyes, coming in before 11:00 and drinking only beer must have demanded considerable self-control.

Heyes sat on Beth's bed, slowly taking off his black gloves. "Yeah, guess friend ain't exactly the word for Harry. But acquaintance don't really take in somebody who's been cordially tryin' to kill us for that long. Had a whole trainload of detectives once just to kill us!" Heyes smile faded as he looked up at Beth. He knew that she wasn't happy with him, despite her pretense. "I'm sorry Beth. Hope we didn't worry you, staying out at that saloon. It was stupid." Heyes rubbed his head where he'd been shot.

Beth stood by the bed and ran a loving hand along Heyes' stubbly cheek, determined not to hurt her man. "It's alright, Heyes. I appreciate your not staying out too late."

"I did alright – see?" Heyes grinned as he pulled a thick bundle of dollar bills out of his pocket. A few wrinkled bills fell to the floor. He gathered them up clumsily.

"You sure did well! But I'm glad you came back early." She leaned over to kiss Heyes on the cheek.

Heyes stood and moved to kiss Beth again, more thoroughly, but then, sensing her distate, he pulled back. "I'll head on back next door, Beth. See you in the morning, love."

"Heyes, you don't have to go!" said Beth, trying desperately not to put any emotional pressure on Heyes. She knew that it was the worst thing to do to an addict like Heyes. After all, she was one, too. He never mentioned her weight, but she knew that he didn't like to be with a fat woman any more than she wanted to be with a drunken man. She had been way too heavy when they had met. Even while he had been her student, she had started to get her over eating under control. While they had been a committed pair, she had dropped even more weight - a good 40 pounds. While Heyes had been on trial and in prison and jail, the weight had been coming back on. Beth was ashamed of herself. Heyes was well aware of Beth's weight gain, of course, but he never said a word and their first night back together had lacked nothing in passion.

Beth wanted to grant her man the same respect he had given her. But she hadn't hidden her aversion to his drinking well enough. Heyes' eyes dropped. He said, "I know you don't want to be with me when I'm drunk, honey. You don't have to pretend with me."

"Come on Heyes, you're fine. I love you! Come to bed!" said Beth.

"No, honey," said Heyes. "I'll see you in the morning. I need some good rest. We'll be at the Pen tomorrow – I ain't – I mean I'm not looking forward to it. Good-night then, Beth. I love you, darling." He kissed her on the cheek, tucked his gloves into his belt, and walked slowly back through the communicating door to spend the night alone.

Beth lay in bed alone, feeling horribly guilty for having bruised Heyes' feelings. She worried for the future. She had done everything she could not to hurt Heyes and it hadn't been enough. She just prayed that he wasn't starting down a destructive path.

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Early the next morning, Heyes and Curry both felt their hearts beating faster as the hotel surrey pulled up in front of the prison where the pair had been confined only a few days before. "Whew! I hate this place. But I keep thinkin' of the men who hate it more and can't get out." said the Kid. Heyes thought the same, but didn't say it. He had a pounding headache that kept him very subdued.

"You'll both do fine," said Cole. "But I don't blame you for not liking it. It doesn't look like a welcoming place." He was a little nervous himself. There was never any guarantee of how a negro lawyer would be welcomed by white law men.

The acting warden, a scared-faced old marshal named Brad Bartholomew, welcomed the three into his office with warm hand-shakes all around. Cole began to relax. "We sure do appreciate you boys doin' this for us. We're grateful all three of you," said Bartholomew. "This is my assistant, Marshal Meyers." He introduced a heavily built young blonde who looked like a tough man used to dealing with criminals.

Bartholomew continued, "We've got to get hard evidence before we can fix things up. I've read over what you had to say about all the men, Mr. Heyes. It's something amazing to me that you can remember that many men and get all the stories straight."

Heyes got the message easily enough. "Yes, Marshal, I am sure that I have each and every one of them straight. That's the kind of mind I have. Picky!"

"He's right enough about that, Marshal Bartholomew," said the Kid with a grin. "Guess it's why he's done so well with his studies. And he done us the best plans at the Hole."

Bartholomew nodded. "Very well. We'll have to verify every one of those stories, of course. But there are some men I'd like to ask each of you to meet in person. Both guards and inmates, so you can ask one another questions and get everything straight. Mr. Curry, if you can go with Marshal Meyers here, he has some men lined up for you to talk with. Mr. Heyes, I have some men being brought up here to this office to speak with you and me. Is that agreeable to you both?"

"Yes, sure," said Heyes, and the Kid agreed as well. "I just hope Johnson isn't one of them!"

"No," said Bartholomew. "In fact, he's in the state Insane Asylum in Evanston." Both partners, but Heyes in particular, looked shocked and troubled by this. Both knew that there had been a moment when the Kid had had to consider putting Heyes in just such a place. "Yeah, he totally fell apart after we arrested him. We still need to figure out what he actually did here, and how much the warden knew about. But mostly we need to know what these men have been put through and how we can keep discipline without allowing that kind of corruption by men in power."

Heyes met with a number of guards and inmates. The first was Billy Duke, a scar-faced, prematurely grey man. As he came in, Marshal Bartholomew reached out to shake his hand. The inmate pulled away in shock and fear. He didn't dare to touch the hand of a warden! "It's alright, Duke," said the acting warden. "We aren't here to hurt or trick you. We're here for you to tell us the truth about Mr. Johnson and anyone else who committed abuses. You can speak with perfect freedom. There will not be any reprisals for anything you may say, so long as it is the truth."

"Yes, sir," muttered Duke, looking at the floor with dull eyes. It couldn't be clearer that he didn't believe what Bartholomew was telling him.

"You can trust, him, Duke!" said Heyes with conviction. "You remember me – from when I was hanging in front of my cell? I'm Hannibal Heyes. They've given the Kid and me amnesty. We've went straight a long time ago. But before we go, we want to make sure that you guys get justice. And we know you haven't gotten much of that lately. So please, Duke, tell us the truth. Tell us about what you told me, when I was hanging there."

Duke looked up at Heyes with frightened eyes, breathing hard. He looked back and forth between Heyes and the Marshal, wondering what was really going on. The prisoner obviously assumed that he was being lied to. He took in Heyes' short hair and cut cheek – the marks of his imprisonment. He saw the long scar on Bartholomew's cheek, too. He looked confused. For a prisoner and a warden to be working together had, in his experience, meant nothing but evil and corruption and threat. Heyes saw this in his eyes. "You can count on us, Duke. I promise. Look at me! I promise, you won't be betrayed this time like you were before."

"How long have you been here, Duke?" asked Bartholomew gently.

"Ten years, sir," whispered Duke, avoiding looking into the warden's eyes.

"You've seen some changes in that time?" ask the warden.

There was a long, uncertain pause from Duke. "Yes, sir. Things got worse."

"Be specific, Mr. Duke. What got worse?" asked the warden.

Duke didn't answer at first. But slowly, Duke began to trust the warden and Heyes and to reveal some of the growing abuses in Johnson's time. It took a lot of patience to lure the long-time prisoner into being honest.

When asked about the whipping he had told Heyes about, Duke just took off his shirt. The Marshal and Heyes looked at the weals on Duke's back and chest with horrified eyes.

"Did this happen to a lot of men, Duke?" asked Heyes.

Duke's dull eyes flared to life at this. "No, sir. Just the ones who tried to stand up to Johnson. The worst ones, like Sammy Hall, they got whipped and then they went to hospital. And they came out in pine boxes. Infection they said. They was killed!"

"I believe him! That's what Johnson threatened us with!" said Heyes. "He spent some time in medical school, he said. So I guess he knows how to do some nasty things to folks."

"That won't happen any longer, Duke!" said the Warden. "We're gonna have justice around here, now" Duke looked warily at him. He'd heard things like that before. He would wait and see.

Heyes said, "Duke, if you have any problems, you write to me! Or the governor!"

"Now where'll you be, Heyes?" asked Duke, "And how do I know any letter'll get to you or the governor?"

"I got to admit, I don't know where I'll be," said Heyes, "But the governor knows to pay attention to men here! The Kid and I taught him that." But Duke only looked resentfully at the man who would soon be gone to start a life far from prison. Heyes wished he could make some promise that would mean something to men like Duke. But only time would tell how things would change.

When Duke had gone back to his cell, more men with similarly painfully stories of suffering and injustice came and talked to Heyes and the warden. There was pair after pair of dull, discouraged eyes. But nearly every one looked brighter by the time he left the room to return to his cell. They did get the feeling that Heyes and the Marshal cared about them and their future.

The last man they called in to see Heyes was Bob Smith, his former cell mate. The deaf man was angry at Heyes. "Heyes!" he shouted as he entered the room. "You said you was a teacher! You said you'd teach me to read and write. You went off an' left me! You ain't nothin' but a bank robber! You lied to me!"

Heyes blushed in embarrassment. He knew how this must look to Smith and he felt bad for the man. He spoke loudly and clearly to Smith, but did his best not to come across as shouting or being angry. "No, I didn't lie! Yes I am Hannibal Heyes. I was a bank robber. But I am also a teacher! I promise, that's true!"

"How's that possible, Heyes?" shouted Smith, who looked understandably puzzled.

Heyes raised his voice again to make sure that Smith heard him. "I studied in college for five years to be a teacher, Smith! It's what I'm going to do outside, if they let me! I'm going to teach college math!"

"College? Truly?" Smith was stunned.

Heyes nodded. "Yes, if they let me. They didn't know who I was when I signed up to study at a university. They might not let me graduate now that I have amnesty and I have to tell them who I am. But I will make sure that somebody teaches you here. Alright? It won't be me – it will be somebody better. I'm not a reading teacher. We'll get somebody who is! Alright?"

Smith looked like he might actually have some hope. "Well, alright, Heyes. If you could do that for me, I'd be right grateful. I surely would like to write to my family. And to read what their letters without somebody doin' it for me. And I want to read the Bible. I always wanted to read the Bible!"

Heyes smiled encouragingly. "You will, Smith! I'll make sure somebody teaches you! Right, Warden?"

The new warden said, loudly, "We'll do our best to get someone to teach you, Smith!"

"Alright, Heyes! Thank you! And good luck with the teaching!" The prisoner's face looked much more hopeful as he left. He had something to look forward to.

Heyes spoke said to the new warden, "I'm glad that the rule about talking is being relaxed some. It caused real problems for Smith. He's very deaf, as you could tell. The only way he can hear anyone is if they shout at him. I got beaten for trying to talk with him, and guess other men did, too. So he's effectively been in silence almost every minute here."

"Poor man!" said the warden, shaking his head. "We'll do our best to make it better."

Heyes looked into the acting warden's grey eyes. "Please, please, do get someone to teach Smith to read and write. Must have been real hard on him, being that deaf, in a one-room school house, you know. I promised to teach him and I never got to do it. Would you please make sure that somebody understanding works with him? Being able to read letters from home and to write to people, and to read the books they have here – that has to be one of the things that can make prison bearable.

In fact, if you can have someone at least try to teach all the illiterate guys, it would be a great kindness to them. It won't be easy! It's hard to learn when you're an adult. I know. I had to learn to write again after I got shot in the head. Get someone very patient, who won't give up. Please, would you try to do that, for those men?"

"We'll do our best, Heyes. Money is always tight. Nobody wants to loosen their purses for criminals. You know how it is," said Bartholomew in frustration.

Heyes nodded. "I understand. But really, it would be the best if you could find someone to teach all of the men some math and literature and geography and all the things they didn't get when they were growing up – it would really transform their lives and make things so much better for those who get out in the world again. If I could send some money for it, I would, but I'm in debt way up past my eyebrows. I don't know when or where or if I'll find work. If I can find a funder for you, I will. I do know some people with money, although I've begged so many for loans, they might not even read mail from me anymore. College education doesn't come cheap."

"Mr. Heyes," said the scarred old acting warden, "I promise you that we will do all we can about teaching the men. I will appeal to the state for funding, and if they won't give it, I'll ask the local charities. Let us know if you find a funder – that would speed things along. I know it would make a great difference in the men's lives."

The Kid, too, was going through meeting with guards and inmates. Curry told the marshal about a long list of abuses and they searched for ways to make things better. The Kid emphasized to Marshal Meyers, as he finished up with his meetings with guards and inmates, "Sir, can you please get more meat and green stuff for the men here? As hard as they work, they need good food and they don't never get it. I know it costs a lot, but it sure would make things better for 'em. Maybe they could work in a garden to grow their own. I know they'd like that a lot – to do somethin' that makes a difference. And I know they'd be willing to work for it. I asked all the guys I met with today, and they said they would be real glad to work in a garden. It'd be a good skill for the ones who get out to have, too."

Meyers said, "Mr. Curry, we will do our best to improve the food. I think gardening would be a great activity for the men. We'll work on getting that going for next spring. Thank you for the idea!"

As the process came near to its end, the senator and the governor met with Heyes and the Kid in the warden's office, hosted by Bartholomew. The meeting couldn't have been more different than when Heyes and the Kid had had their first meetings in that room. Heyes perched on a corner of the warden's desk while the Kid sat in a big comfortable old arm chair usually kept for important visitors. The governor and the senator both chose rough stools normally reserved for inmates.

"I can't tell you how grateful we are to you both for doing this," said the Governor to Heyes and Curry. "It is incredibly generous of you."

"That's sure right, guys!" said Bartholomew, "What you've told us, and the support you've given the men in their own testimony, will help us to address the abuses and make sure they won't happen again. And you both have good, viable ideas for improving this place. I know what you have told us will make a lot of difference in these men's lives. I promise to make sure that it will!"

"We couldn't let those guys down!" said the Kid. "You may not believe me, but there are plenty of decent guys locked up in this place. We were here just three days – lots of them have years and years to serve. We can't just go off and forget 'em."

"Yeah, it might be their only chance," said Heyes. "It's so important to them, and to us! Having your ears, right now, Mr. Senator and Mr. Governor, and Mr. Warden, this is when we can make a difference. Please don't forget about it! We will follow up with you."

"I promise, Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry, we won't forget about this place and all the abuses and neglect you have brought to light," said the governor.

"And I'll keep an eye out, state wide and nation wide, on prisons!" said Senator Warren.

Heyes finally asked a question of his own. "Governor, senator, please tell us: why our three days here?"

"It had symbolic value, of course, that you serve some time," said the senator. "It had to be long enough, as I said before, to worry you. It had to feel real. There was someone who argued for months, not days. But others argued more convincingly. Governor Rout of Colorado, I must say, in particular, said that he thought the most important end result was to get a good sheriff and a good professor out of this. If they put you in there for months, your skills would have gone stale, you could have gotten really badly hurt, you would certainly have been angry at the state, and your contact with your own fields would have suffered. And worst of all, your prestige suffered with every hour you were here. To lock you away for serious time would have sacrificed the real goal of the whole exercise. This wasn't about punishment. It was about what you can do for this country."

Curry said, "Thank you for explaining that. That's sure how we see it, ain't it, Heyes? We want to help out!"

Heyes nodded. "We won't forget what we owe you gentlemen. If not for you, we have been in here for the rest of our lives. And that wouldn't have been very long. One way or another, we wouldn't have made it anywhere near twenty years. That guy Johnson would have seen that we didn't last any longer than anyone else has who's caused trouble for him."

The governor shook his head. "I don't know, Heyes. I start to think that you guys would have found a way to get the word out about what was happening. You would have managed it. You're impressive men."

Heyes shook his head in turn. "No, Governor, I don't believe it. I couldn't find a way to do it in three days, and I can't think of a way now. Silence was a specialty here." Curry nodded.

The governor, the senator, and the marshal looked at Heyes and his partner in sorrow. They were afraid it would be very hard to change this place. The damage done to the inmates couldn't be turned around all in three days, or three months, and maybe not in three years.

As the boys left and the doors closed behind them for the last time, the Kid said, "Remind me to thank the governor again! He's sure got my vote!"

"And mine, if I ever wind up back living in Colorado," agreed Heyes.

As Heyes and the Kid left the place to ride the hotel surrey back to Laramie, the new warden and his new cell block wardens looked out the door at them. Bartholomew said thoughtfully, "Who would have thought that two old outlaws would be such decent guys? They spent three days swearing out testimony and going over every word so the men can have justice. That was an awful lot of trouble, when you can bet that all they want is to the see the back of this place as fast as they can."

"Yeah," said Meyers, "I used to think Heyes and Curry were just a couple of publicity hounds. Now I know better. And so does every man here."

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In the morning, still worn out from their testimony, Heyes and the Kid were eager to get on a train to New York with their fiancées. They stood on the platform rather nervously watching out for press. The press had found out about their night in the Bucket of Blood – it had been written up in the local newspapers the previous day. So the four were relieved when the train pulled in and they were able to get on it and ride away to the East. Heyes looked out the window of the train as they pulled away and got out of town. "I guess you won't be wanting to come back to Laramie any time soon, Heyes," said Beth.

"Oh, I don't know," said the former outlaw. "If the Pen gets better, I'd be kind of interested to check up on it. They promised to teach the illiterate guys to read and write. That'll make a difference. And I hope they'll really do the gardening that Jed suggested. The place might get almost livable, with a responsible warden and good men looking after the cell blocks."

But both boys looked eagerly east. They could hardly wait to get to New York and find out what would happen with Heyes' future.

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The four of them got into New York in the late afternoon four days later. They caught a pair of cabs to Professor Homer's place. He greeted them gladly. "Hello, folks! Come on in! I've lined up hotel rooms for Cat and the Kid over at the Black Eagle. You'll be more comfortable there than at my place, especially without Marie to cook for you. But right now, sit down and rest a spell."

"Thanks so much, Charlie!" said Heyes. "Do you have a briefcase I can borrow to take the amnesty and pardon with me to the President's office?"

Homer looked startled. "Now? Heyes, you're really going over there right now, without a chance to rest up? You ought at least to clean up some!"

Heyes looked sheepish, but he persevered. "Well, I guess I'd better wash off in your bathroom, if you don't mind, and change clothes. I don't want to be smelly! But yeah. I'd rather not wait. Is it too late in the day, do you think, Charlie? I just got to know!"

"No, if you bathe and dress quickly, you should make it in time. I know the President is eager to see you. He won't leave early. Since you said it might be today he'll be looking out for you. I did tell him who you are. He was expecting it, but that name of yours still didn't make him happy. And yes, I have a briefcase you can use. It's kind of old, but he'll recognize it. It's got my initials on it. One of these days, you'll need one that says HH."

Heyes grinned at that. He liked the mental picture of himself with his own personalized leather briefcase. He went to clean up and dress. Within just a few minutes, he was out front calling a cab. He had a worn old briefcase in his hands with the initials CHH on it and the most precious documents he had ever owned inside it.

Heyes had dressed with care in a conservative and relatively unwrinkled suit. He didn't want to get anything wrong on this errand. As Heyes got out of the cab across from the building where the President of Columbia University had his office, the former outlaw felt at least as nervous as he would have walking into a dusty western street to face down a gunman. Heyes had his heart in his throat as he knocked on the handsome, brass fitted door marked "President."

A bright young man in a neat suit let Heyes in to the well appointed outer office of the university president. "I am here to see the president," said Heyes. "I have some papers to show him. I believe he is waiting for me."

The young secretary looked curiously at Heyes. "Do you have an appointment?" The secretary had seen Heyes before, but not often. He didn't seem to recognize the former Joshua Smith. The short hair did make a lot of difference in his appearance, Heyes supposed.

Heyes said anxiously, "The president said to come see him as soon as I got into town, which I told him would be today. He knows what it's about. As I say, I have some papers that he needs to see."

The secretary said, "I believe he is free now, sir. May I say who is calling?"

Heyes cleared his throat. "I'm a graduate student here, but I was using a different name that I can't use now. My real name is Hannibal Heyes."

The secretary gulped. But he maintained his professional decorum. "I will ask the president if he can see you, Mr. Heyes. Please wait here."

The secretary pulled the door almost but not quite fully closed as he walked in to the president's office, so Heyes' keen ears caught what went on in the inner office.

"Mr. President," said the secretary, "there's a graduate student to see you and to show you some papers. Or he says that's what he is, but I'm sure we have no student by that name. He says he's Hannibal Heyes! You know – the notorious safe cracker from Wyoming!"

The President replied in his deeper, slower voice. "I know who it is, Rogers. His alias was Joshua Smith. You know – our top mathematics student."

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed the startled secretary. "I didn't recognize him! But now that you say who he is, yes I can see that this is Joshua Smith. Poor man!"

The President sounded troubled. "Is he that changed? He's just out of prison, but he wasn't there for long."

"Yes, he is changed!" said the agitated secretary. "They cut off all his hair and there's a nasty cut on his face. He looks – well, he looks awful. Thin, tired, and tense."

The President sounded sympathetic, or Heyes hoped that was what he was hearing. "I guess I can understand that. He's an extraordinary man, but I don't know what we'll be able to do for him and neither does he. His situation poses some thorny problems. I wish I could avoid it right now – I'm tired, too. But I have to do my duty. Show the man in. The newspapers will be stalking him, so please don't say a word about this to anyone until I give you permission."

"Of course not, sir!"

The secretary came out of the inner office. "Please go through, Mr. Heyes. The president will see you now. Don't forget your papers."

Heyes grinned self-consciously. "Thanks!"He was so distracted that he had almost tried to walk in without that vital briefcase!

Heyes entered the elegantly appointed office respectfully, trying not to show the apprehension he felt. He was standing up as straight as he could, and trying to keep his face neutral. He wasn't at all sure of how the president would greet him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Heyes!" said the white-bearded president, sounding irritable. And yet Heyes thought that there was something hidden behind the official façade and the white beard. It might just have been a smile.

The president sat behind his large, carved wooden desk and gestured for Heyes to take a seat in a chair across from it. "So. Now we know why you could not accept a diploma under the name of Joshua Smith or tell us your real name. I suppose that we also know who the second person was whose life you were protecting. Surely that was the notorious Mr. Curry. The deans in question and I had started to have strong suspicions when we saw that sensational story in the paper about the arrest of Hannibal Heyes just after you disappeared from campus. We hoped that we had dodged the bullet, so to speak, when the newspapers said you were a physics major from New York University. But no such luck! They got it wrong, as usual. So we have to deal with you here." He didn't sounds at all pleased at the prospect.

Heyes stood at attention almost as if he were back in prison. He was uncomfortably aware of how much trouble he was causing for his school. But the president looked with compassion at his school's most infamous student. "Heyes, please do sit down. Frankly, you look exhausted." Heyes sat, gratefully. He was bone tired and wasn't surprised that it showed. The emotional strain he had been under for weeks told far worse than did the physical ordeal of the long train ride.

Heyes, solemnly, "Mr. President, I deeply regret causing embarrassment for this institution that has done so much for me. If I could change the past, believe me, I would."

"Mr. Heyes," said the President, speaking with some passion, "all anyone can change is his future. A university is here to help people to do that very thing. Whether we can help you to reverse a past as hard as yours, especially after all that has happened to you in the past couple of weeks, I don't know. I believe you have some papers that I need to see. Perhaps those documents will help me to understand your situation"

"Yes, sir." Heyes opened the briefcase. He pulled out the large cream-colored envelopes that had been handed to him in prison by a governor and a senator. He now handed them to a university president. It occurred to Heyes that he was keeping different company than he and the Kid would ever have guessed when they were still robbing banks and trains!

The president took the envelopes and opened them carefully. Seeing the long pages of official scrip, he said, "Mr. Heyes, I beg your patience. It looks as if you have given me some very important reading here and I intend to read it all before we go on. The details may be extremely important."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Heyes amazed himself by sitting quietly and patiently until the president had read to the end of the pardon and the amnesty, with their important signatures and impressed gold seals. He waited in growing tension, but he didn't fidget. The rest of his life, and Beth's, hung on the decisions that the president made about him. Anything and everything he did could have an impact on the President's opinion of his most controversial student.

The president didn't hide his smile now. "Congratulations, Mr. Heyes! So you and Mr. Curry are now out of the shadow of the law!"

"Thank you, Mr. President," said Heyes, allowing himself a brief smile as the two men shook hands over the wide desk. "It's been a long time coming."

"May I ask how long?" The president sounded honestly curious.

Heyes answered promptly, "We first applied for amnesty in November of 1883. We had hopes that one year would be sufficient. It wasn't."

The president's furry white eyebrows rose. "You've been admirably careful to keep your noses clean for more than seven years!"

"Yes, sir. If I may bring your attention to one of the things mentioned in the amnesty document, we did more than keep our noses clean. We caught and turned in several criminals and over a million in stolen money." The president's eyebrows rose higher. "Of course, the murder trial caused problems. I sure never wanted to kill any man. But when it was life or death, I didn't have much choice. So I hope it won't count too badly against me. I was just trying to get my partner freed from unlawful detention. And then they arrested us and we had to serve three days on an old charge before they gave us our amnesty." Now Heyes' impatience got the better of him. "Sir, can you please tell me if you will permit me to to graduate?"

The president shook his head. "No." Heyes' mouth fell opened in miserable shock.

The president put up his hand. "No, Heyes, pardon me. I don't mean you can't graduate! I mean I don't know whether or not you can. That isn't a simple decision that I can make unilaterally. I will need to meet with the deans of your undergraduate and graduate colleges and with as many of your professors as I can. I'm afraid we will have to call the University board – or as many of them as we can manage - to rule on this. So you are looking at some delay before you know anything. It's hard to get people together in the summer. Half the board is probably off to Europe or at least distant states."

Heyes was distressed to hear this, but he tried not to show his disappointment. "I understand sir. I don't suppose this is a common situation. I'm very sorry to cause so much trouble. I can only say that if you allow me to graduate, I will strive for the rest of my life to be worthy of the honor. Is there anything I can do to help to make my case?"

The president looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, Heyes. If you can assemble a few character witnesses to speak for you – certainly including Charlie Homer and some of your classmates and students – that would be the greatest help. If you can get them together by the middle of next week, that should be in time. I know you can't gather everyone, since so many of your friends live far away out West. But then again, many of your western friends probably wouldn't be very suitable for this purpose."

Heyes grinned for a second. "I guess you're right! But I do know plenty of honorable men, too. The man who helped us to get our amnesty is a sheriff in Wyoming. He could speak for us, if I could get hold of him. But we haven't been able to communicate with Sheriff Trevors in some time. We don't know why."

The president studied Heyes, who was sitting very upright, trying to look as proper as he could. "I'm sorry to hear that, Heyes. I hope your sheriff friend is safe. But I suppose a western sheriff has a very dangerous job. It's kind of strange to think that you are, or have been, part of that dangerous life. To us easterners, you are a very exotic creature."

The president studied the former graduate student before him. Finally he said, "Pardon me, Heyes. I'm trying to figure out who I'm looking at. I mean, is this the jail bird, or the graduate student? The safe cracker, or the world-class mathematician? The poor farm boy or the innovator who writes back and forth to top European authorities in their own languages? The gang leader or the teacher who won the award for the best student teacher this year?" Heyes started. He hadn't heard about that award previously. He hoped it would help his cause. "The killer, or the guy who made a saddle so a crippled youth could ride? How do we sum you up for a bunch of eastern business men on the board who won't know what to make of you?"

Heyes bit his lip. He wasn't sure what to say and he ran into his aphasia just a little as he felt his way. "All of those at once, sir, I guess. Sir, if I may say so, I think that . . . denying the first half of each of those pairs wouldn't really serve either one of us very well. I think no one can understand who I am or what I can do for students, if they don't understand where I came from. I hope I have a much better . . . grasp of right and wrong now than I did even seven or eight years ago. It's the ability to change myself that I hope can help me to transform my students. I would be happy to teach anywhere, but I am most anxious to teach out west where I can help young men like I used to be. I went the wrong way for so long. I would to help others to go the right way."

Heyes sweated while the president studied him silently, considering this remarkable speech. "I've heard about your silver tongue, Heyes. It was supposed to have vanished after you got shot in the head. Yes, I can hear the pauses. But I find you a very eloquent man. If you can make a speech like that to the board, it could materially help your cause. Are you willing to do that?"

Heyes swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. If they would like to hear me, I would be more than pleased to speak to them. Um . . . about character witnesses, do you think they'd like to hear from my partner, from Jedediah Curry? He's not very polished, but he knows me better than anyone. A lot of people think he's dangerous, but that's only to people who are dangerous themselves. He's a good man. And I'm not the only one who thinks that. It wasn't just me who got amnesty. Four governors gave Jed Curry amnesty. He's the best man I know."

The president looked moved by this, and yet unsure. "I'm sure he is, Heyes. But let me meet with him before he speaks to anyone else. I want to make sure he does you more good than harm. He does, as you say, have a pretty bad public reputation.

Alright, you look done in. Go get some rest and marshal your forces. I'll send word to you as soon as I can about when the board will meet. I would guess in the middle of next week. Certainly not sooner. Do you have any other questions?"

Heyes looked this very important man in the eye. "No sir, unless you have advice for me. Maybe I'm naïve, but I think you're on my side. So if there's anything I can do to help my case, I would appreciate knowing about it."

The President gave the former outlaw a grin, then a rather playful frown. "Heyes, what you need to worry about is not so much doing as not doing. Can you please try to avoid doing spectacularly foolish stunts like playing poker in notorious saloons swarming with press? Professors frequently drink, I confess, and some gamble, but not for large amounts and not where the press will be watching. Most professors aren't people that the press cares to follow the way it does you, so you really must be more careful."

Heyes opened his mouth to defend himself. Then he shut it again. He blushed scarlet and looked at the floor. "Yes, sir. It was thoughtless of me. I won't do anything like that again."

The president laughed. "I'm sorry to have to clip your wings like that. It must be a lot of fun for a player as superb as you are said to be. Alright - I confess to being curious. How much did you take home from the Bucket of Blood? And how much did you start out with? And don't pretend that you don't remember it to the penny, because you do."

Heyes grinned. "It was just a small game. I walked in with $25.00 and walked out with $380.00. I played conservatively – for me – and left early – about 10:30."

The president whistled loudly. "If that's conservatively, I'd hate to see you taking chances! It seems to me that it took guts for you to walk in and do that, with everyone knowing your name!" he chuckled. "And that where winning that much that fast can get you shot, from what I hear!"

Heyes grinned. "That's true. Or it can be. If I'd won $10,000, as I have at times, I'd have worried a lot more. But it's just not that's not that scary when Kid Curry is sitting beside you, watching your back."

"I guess not!" The president laughed again. "I look forward to meeting the man. So long as he's really as good a man as you say he is."

The grin vanished from Heyes' face. He wanted the president to know that he wasn't kidding. "He is, sir. Rest assured, he is."


	63. Chapter 63

Heyes took a cab back to Charlie's place to pick up his luggage and share the news he had just gotten from the president of Columbia University. As he rode down the busy New York street, Heyes ignored the swarms of people and vehicles that had so fascinated him when he had first arrived in New York nearly six years before. The former outlaw had plenty on his mind. Heyes didn't like to think of it as a con, but he did need to do some fasting talking. He would have to convince a bunch of friends to do something disagreeable and inconvenient to help out a retired outlaw who had no clue what he was going to do to pay them back.

Heyes trudged up the steps to Charlie's place, feeling utterly worn out. It was more psychological pressure than anything else wearing on him. Heyes yawned as he knocked on Charlie's door up a few steps from the street. Charlie opened the door right away. Heyes saw behind Charlie three other people standing in the hall eagerly waiting for Heyes and his news. They stepped back to allow Heyes to come into the narrow front hall. "Well, Heyes? Do you get to graduate?" asked Cat, coming right to the point as usual. Beth, in the back of the group, looked patient. She had guessed correctly at Heyes' answer.

Heyes walked toward the closest seat, which happened to be a love seat in Charlie's parlor. He dropped into it and gestured for Beth to sit next to him. "I don't know yet. The president himself doesn't know."

"What?" asked the Kid, as he sat on a horse-hair sofa with Cat, "Ain't he the top dog? Who's he afraid of?"

Heyes grinned. Curry might not know much about universities, but he knew about people. "Turns out there's somebody ranks over even a university president – the board. He thinks he can get 'em gathered up by middle of next week, or enough of them to make a ruling. So I need to have my own folks gathered up by then, too. I need character witnesses, like you'd have in court. Those board members – company presidents and guys like that – they aren't gonna warm up to a retired outlaw real easily. I sure wish we could find Lom and get him here! And Jed, the president wants to talk to you, if you don't mind."

"'Course I will, Heyes!" said Curry with a teasing sparkle in his blue eyes. "I'll tell the man all about you." The five of them sat in Charlie's parlor and laughed together.

Heyes chuckled. "That's what I'm afraid of! You know all the bad stuff, Kid! Try to say something good here and there, alright?"

Curry grinned. "Well, if I got to, maybe I can think of somethin', Heyes."

"And maybe Heyes'll have to work awful hard to think of something good to say about you so the president won't be afraid to let you in his office, Kid Curry!" said Cat, winking playing at her fiancé.

Heyes noticed that Beth, the lone easterner surrounded by his western friends and family, had fallen very quiet. He smiled encouragingly at his financée. "Sweetie, I hope you'll be the chief witness. Without you I wouldn't be at Columbia at all. You've done so much for me. Remember that day you taught me to swear again?" Beth laughed, and felt better. That was one of many Heyes stories that no one knew but Beth and Heyes themselves.

"That sounds fun!" exclaimed Cat with a surprised smile at Beth.

"Yeah, and real useful! This lady's got a great grasp of what a man needs – in a whole lotta' ways!" said Heyes putting his arm around Beth. He kissed her with enthusiasm. She blushed happily.

"When are we gonna meet more of your New York pals, Heyes?" asked Curry.

"What about tomorrow night? I can ask them to meet us at the bar where we used to go every Friday," suggested Heyes.

"But that's no place for the ladies," Charlie pointed out, catching Beth's eye and realizing she worried about Heyes in a bar at this tense moment. He quickly came up with an excuse that would keep Heyes from spending too much time drinking. "After a drink, you should go someplace for dinner so Cat and Beth can join you."

"What do you mean, 'you?'" said Heyes to his advisor. "If it's a Columbia bunch, you're the head man!"

"No, I don't want to horn in on you young folks," said Charlie quietly.

Beth joked at Homer, "Stop that, Charlie! You're a Columbia man, too. We'd miss you if you weren't along!"

"That's right!" said Heyes.

"No thank you," said Charlie. "Think I'll spend the evening right here with my girl." He looked at a little framed photograph of Marie that was on the table next to his chair.

"Alright Charlie, we understand," said Cat softly, reaching for Curry's hand.

The boys went out and brought some sliced meats and bread and salad from a local deli back to Charlie's place. So they had a late dinner that no one needed to cook. But soon after that, the two couples excused themselves to go to their hotel and their respective rooms. The whole bunch freshly in from Wyoming was very tired. On their way out of the apartment, Heyes and the Kid arranged when and where they would meet for drinks and dinner the next day. During the day Jed and Cat would enjoy exploring New York together. And they would be shopping for wedding dresses and rings.

Charlie tagged Heyes on the shoulder. When the former outlaw turned around his advisor handed him a door key. "Thanks, Charlie!" said Heyes. "I'm glad you've got a copy of my key. I almost forgot that my keys, and all my other stuff from when I got arrested, will still be over at the police station. I sure don't want to have to go over there before I head home!" He stifled a yawn. "I am beat! I just hope they haven't evicted me since I wasn't here to pay the rent."

"Don't worry, Heyes," said Charlie Homer with a little smile. "I picked up the rent for you."

"Aw Charlie, you shouldn't have done that!" moaned Heyes. He hated to think how badly he was in debt to how many people. Until he got a faculty position, or gave up on that and got another job, he had no way to pay anyone back.

"What, and have you evicted and your books left in the street? You can pay me back any time. It's not as though it's very expensive rent!" Charlie laughed. He grieved to think how simply Heyes had had to live for all these years. It didn't seem right for a very hard-working man closing in on forty to be scrimping like an undergraduate, but grad students had to put up with such things. The one thing Heyes indulged himself in was good clothes, but that was because Silky O'Sullivan insisted on it. He provided a certain amount annually that had to go for clothes, which Heyes did enjoy. Silky wouldn't have someone he was sponsoring look bad. Charlie, of course, didn't know who Silky was or how he had made his money – he only knew that Heyes had a rich clothes-horse friend. Heyes might have to reveal his own identity after his amnesty, but his patrons on the wrong side of the law had no such requirement or security. So there were areas in which Heyes had to continue to lie.

On the street in front of Charlie's place, Heyes kissed Beth as they prepared to part for the evening. "I sure will miss that hotel room side door, honey!" he said as he gave her a squeeze.

Beth kissed him back. "Me, too! Now it's back to hiding again; but only for a few days – just until we get married."

Heyes studied his fiancée's face, trying to gauge how she really felt. "It won't be long now, Beth. Do you really not mind waiting until after I graduate?"

"We don't have to wait until then unless you really want to, darling. I'm sure Jed and Cat would be glad to get married sooner." Beth didn't dare to point out that Cat would start to show her pregnancy any day – Heyes had enough to worry about without having that emphasized. Beth looked into Heyes' anxious and very tired eyes. "But you do want to wait, I know you do. And I think I know why."

Heyes gave Beth a crooked smile. "Yeah, I think you do. I don't want to marry you under any false pretenses. I want to have at least a good chance to support you. It'd make me awful nervous to have you make promises to me when you're not sure what you're getting."

Beth smiled fondly at Heyes, her love for him filling her heart. "I'm getting you for a husband, and that's all I want." She gave him a quick kiss. "Anything beyond that is pure gravy, my darling. Now you go home and try to stop worrying. You need your sleep so you'll have that silver tongue in fighting trim. And don't worry, they'll graduate you. They'd look like awful fools if they didn't."

"I do love you, Beth!" said Heyes. "See you at dinner tomorrow or at the clinic if we wind up there at the same time. I don't think Dr. Leutze would blame you for taking the day off."

Beth kissed her man again. "I'll be there – late, but there. My students need me!"

Heyes got into a cab to go back to his rented room alone. As he rode along he thought how odd it would seem just to go home by himself. Once it had been routine for him, but no longer. The last time he had left his room had been to go to a dance in Central Park with a bunch of his friends nearly a month before. Then only two of whom had known his real name. Now they all did. It seemed about three life times ago. Since that day Heyes had been on a train to Montana, in jail and court in Montana, on a train to Wyoming, in jail and court in Wyoming, in prison in Wyoming, in a hotel in Wyoming, and on a train to New York. He wondered if everything could possibly still be as he had left it his rented room.

When Heyes went up the steps and unlocked his door, he found a little drift of letters waiting for him beneath the mail slot in his door. All of them were addressed to Joshua Smith. It startled him to see the name that he had so dramatically put behind him in Wyoming. In New York, he would have a lot of work to take back up his own name.

Among the small stack of bills and official school notices was a much stamped and battered envelope from Professor Heintzelman in Germany. It contained a long letter full of mathematical ideas in answer to something Heyes had written so long ago that he had to think for a while to remember what he had asked about. Heyes read through the letter quickly, glad to find that German came back to him easily despite his month away from the language. The German academic had also asked some questions about events out West, but they all dated to well before Heyes' notorious murder trial. It took a while for word to get from Montana and Wyoming to Germany. Heyes grimaced a bit to think of how he would write back to this distant mentor he had never met. He would have to explain, in German, what had happened to him out West and why he had to close the letter with a signature that Heintzelman had never seen before. Heyes imagined that Heintzelman, a devoted fan of all things cowboy and western, would certainly have heard of Hannibal Heyes. How the distinguished professor would react when he realized that he had been corresponding with the notorious western outlaw for years, Heyes wasn't sure. He would wait to answer until he knew whether he was going to graduate. That would be vital news to convey, also, and Heyes couldn't afford to write to Germany very often.

Heyes hung his suit in his clothes cabinet and went to climb into his bed. But he pulled back in disgust. After nearly a month without an inhabitant, it was covered with a thin layer of dust and there was even a dead bug on his pillow. Heyes yawned as he changed his bed and tossed the filthy covers into a corner. He knew that he would have to dust and clean the whole place thoroughly soon, but right now he was just too tired.

In the morning, Heyes put on a nice dark grey pin striped suit and topped it with a fashionable straw boater suited to the summer weather. He carefully straightened his tie. Heyes was going to be asking for character witnesses, so he wanted to look respectable. While he was eager to see his close friends, who already knew his real name, he wasn't looking forward to the rest of the day. It was going to be incredibly difficult to reveal his all-too-well-known real name to the wide variety of people he was likely to meet. He didn't know what their reactions would be. He supposed some people would laugh out loud at his silly name.

To begin the day, Heyes went out to get breakfast from a little local place. He had eaten many a breakfast from Arnheim's Deli during his studies at Columbia. The rotund white-clad shopkeeper greeted his habitual customer with a glad cry. He asked in his thick German accent, "Hey, Mr. Smith, where you been lately? Must be a month since we saw you! Thought you'd went back West. Looks like you've had a hard time – how'd you get that cut?"

Heyes cringed to think how awkward it was going to be to crawl out from under his long-accustomed alias and into the revealing light of day- starting now. "Hello, Moe! Got the cut in the Wyoming State Penitentiary. Got hit by a guard with a diamond ring." Hearing this, an elderly woman who had been buying meats glanced at Heyes fearfully and hurried out of the store.

Moe recoiled and dropped his voice, looking around apprehensively at his other customers who might hear this before he turned back to Heyes. "Penitentiary! You were in jail?"

Heyes studied the floor while he replied softly. "Not jail, Moe, prison. It's different. Jail is for a little while. Prison is for a long time. Jail is while they figure out if you're guilty. Prison is when they know you are. And we were."

The deli owner stopped bustling around behind the glass counter to look his friend and customer in the eye. "You are guilty, Mr. Smith? I can't believe that! Of what would a nice student like you be guilty? And if you're so guilty, why are you out?"

Heyes explained quietly to his friend Moe, who listened in horror. "Theft and armed robbery. My partner and I stopped stealing a long time ago. And we've helped the law some. So they let us off. They gave us amnesty - like a pardon, but when you haven't been convicted. But to get the amnesty, my partner and I have to use our real names. My name isn't Smith. It's Heyes. Hannibal Heyes."

Moe's voice dropped to a whisper. "No! Oh my good lord! Not the man they just tried for . . . murder?"

Heyes nodded, shame-faced. "Yeah, Moe. I killed the man. I was defending myself." He felt terrible to see his old friend the deli man step back in fear.

The deli man swallowed hard. "You killed a man really? Mr. S . . . Mr. Heyes?"

Heyes tried to make it sound less terrible. "Yes. I didn't want to. But he shot at me. He and some other guys had my partner prisoner. They were going to kill both of us and turn us in for the reward. So I had no choice. And that's how the court found. They found me innocent." But Heyes saw Moe Arnheim cringing away from him. "Really, Moe, you don't have to be afraid of me. I don't hurt people unless I really have to. My partner and I are famous for not hurting people."

Moe still looked scared. "Your partner – the famous gunman – Kid Curry? I can't believe you know a bad man like that! You always seem like such a nice young man!"

Heyes tried to explain patiently. "The Kid is my cousin. We grew up together. He's a good man, Moe. Trust me on that."

Moe shook his head, sending his ample jowls rippling. He spoke in obvious distress. "No. Mr. Heyes, you lied to me all those years. I don't trust you no more. Please leave my store and don't come back. You already lost me a customer – maybe more. If a thief comes here, honest people will not come. Go away and don't come back."

Heyes nodded sorrowfully. He was afraid this would keep happening to him. He spoke under his breath, hoping that people at the other end of the long counter hadn't heard him and wouldn't hold this against the deli – or its departing former customer. "Alright, Mr. Arnheim. If that's the way you feel, I understand. I'll miss your good bagels. Good-bye." Heyes turned and left.

Mr. Arnheim pointedly turned away from Heyes to go about his work. He did not say good-bye. And he didn't say that he was sorry, although Heyes thought that he was. He hoped so.

Heyes went a couple of blocks down the street to a place where they didn't know his alias and had no need to ask his name about a cash transaction. The bagels and coffee just didn't taste as good as they always had at Arnheim's place. It was a hard way to start the morning.

Trying to put the hurt he had just suffered out of his mind, Heyes hurried down the street. He walked around the corner and down a few blocks to a small Western Union office. The sandy-haired telegraph operator looked at Heyes curiously. This telegrapher had sent some very interesting messages for this customer. But he didn't know the man's name – only the range of aliases he had used to sign his messages. He always paid in cash. The telegrapher would never be so indiscrete as to ask about a customer's messages, but it was obvious that the man before him led an unusually colorful life.

Heyes wrote out his message far more slowly than he would have in the old days; he still had to work hard to summon up the more unusual words and get them on paper. Quick scribbling was now beyond Heyes' powers. As Heyes handed the message to the telegrapher he was very conscious that it would communicate very vividly to the telegrapher as well as to the intended recipient. It read.

"Sheriff Lom Trevors, Porterville, Wyoming

Kid and I got amnesty thanks to you stop must convince Columbia to graduate me stop need character witnesses stop will you please come to New York City in next ten days query please come to double wedding stop probably will be next Thursday stop have not heard from you stop are you safe query please reply soonest stop

Hannibal Heyes

144C Norfolk Street, New York City"

The telegrapher looked at the message and read it quickly. As he looked up at his customer, the telegrapher was for once unable to totally hide his reaction. He gulped and silently bent to the key to tap out the message. Then he looked back at Heyes and said, "$2.95, please, um, Mr. Heyes."

Heyes handed the man three one dollar bills and looked warily at him. "If he replies, I'll be out until tonight. If you need to find me, try the Leutze Clinic or later on at the graduate mathematics department at Columbia University."

The telegrapher nodded and handed Heyes a receipt and a Liberty head nickel. He said softly, with a furtive smile, "Good luck Mr. Heyes."

Heyes, pleasantly surprised, said, "Thanks!"

Heyes went from the telegraph office to the Leutze Clinic. As he walked down the street, he glanced at the people around him and wondered about how each of them might react if he or she knew who the man with the very short dark hair and the cut face really was. How many would pull back in fear and hatred and how many would want to shake his hand? And how many other reactions might there be that he couldn't predict? But most people would never know who he was and he hoped that most would never care. Heyes had had his laughs from his celebrity. Now, he would be far happier just to be an ordinary man known only to family, friends, and colleagues. If he was patient enough, it could happen yet. But it had been years since he had encountered any sane American adult whom he could be sure had not heard of Hannibal Heyes.

Heyes felt like he was going back in time as he walked toward the brownstone where the clinic was. Some of the people up there knew who he really was, but unless those in the know had been indiscrete, there were still plenty of people who didn't know.

On his way up, the former outlaw met Sam, the silent porter as he was coming down. Heyes turned around and followed Sam down to the street. There the two men exchanged a silent smile and a hand-shake. Sam gestured to the cut on Heyes' face. How could Heyes explain to the man, who couldn't understand much spoken language at all, what had happened to him? Heyes gestured with his hand, where he wore Beth's silver ring, to indicate how a man wearing a ring had hit him. Sam's mouth came opened in surprise and anger. Who would hit his friend? Heyes extended both hands level to indicate that everything was alright now. Sam smiled. He understood as much as he needed to. It was very strange for Heyes to meet one person to whom nothing about him, other than the cut and the hair, had changed. Sam had never known Heyes' name and never would. He didn't any longer know his own name. Yet Sam set off cheerfully to do some errand, waving good-bye to his friend.

Heyes went back up the stairs. On the second floor where the clinic was, he leaned on the reception desk, where his friend Polly was on duty. "Joshua! You're back! How are you?" The lovely young blonde smiled brilliantly at the man she knew perfectly well was really Hannibal Heyes.

"Great! The Kid and I got our amnesty, Polly!" he told her gladly, but keeping his voice discretely low so as not to disturb patients or doctors. "One condition is that we use our real names. So it's Heyes from now on and I just have to deal with whatever trouble that causes me."

"Congratulations, Heyes! When do you get your MA?" Polly popped up from her desk to kiss Heyes on the cheek. Heyes, who had always thought Polly was very pretty, was tickled.

But in reply to Polly's question, Heyes shrugged. "Don't know. They're still deciding on whether or not they can give two degrees to . . . Hannibal Heyes when Joshua Smith earned all the credits. I need to make my case before the board like I was in court and bring character witnesses. Would you please come and speak for me, Polly?" Heyes bit his lip. It was embarrassing to hang up for a brief instant over his own name.

"Let me know when and I'll get off of work. You just let me know where and when, Heyes!" Polly replied gladly.

"We're thinking next Wednesday, but I'll make sure you know exactly. Thanks very much! Be thinking of nice things to say." Heyes finished by whispering, "You might play down the poker and the gunplay." He gave her a mock-warning gaze.

"Heyes, I do have some sense!" Polly giggled. "There's plenty of good stuff to say about you, don't you worry. I'm guessing you want to see Dr. Leutze? He's got a patient right now, but you might be able to sneak in when this one leaves. It ought to be soon. I haven't seen Beth yet, but Jim should be back from an errand any time."

"Sounds like you've got me pretty well covered, Polly. Is Dr. Goldstein here?" Heyes asked.

"Yes, Joshua, sorry, I mean, Heyes. He's a got a patient who won't be out for a while."

Heyes looked up as he replied. "Thanks, Polly! Oh, here's Jim!"

"Joshua! You got out of p-prison and you d-didn't let me know!" Jim jokingly made as if to hit his good friend.

Heyes ducked and smiled gladly. "Sorry, Jim! I thought I'd just wait a couple of days and tell you in person. And you can use my name in the open now. In fact, you've got to. We got our amnesty and now we have to use our real names."

"Then congratulations, Heyes!" said Jim with enthusiasm, shaking his former roommate by the hand vigorously.

"Thanks, Jim!" said Heyes. "I'm still trying to get those degrees. You can help, if you will. The President of Columbia University is going to gather the board by the middle of next week. He wants me to speak to them and to bring character witnesses. Will you be one, please? That would mean a lot to me!"

"It would be a p-privilege to speak for you, Mr. Heyes," said Jim, standing up very straight.

Heyes became just as solemn. "Thank you a whole lot, Jim. And I never really got to thank you for appearing in court for me. It . . . I . . . well, thank you." Heyes openly fought for how to put his feelings into words without being maudlin or embarrassing Jim. But Heyes understood how very, very difficult it had been for Jim to speak in the dock, and even to reveal his real name. "If I ever can do something for you . . ."

"Aw, Heyes, just being my friend is plenty. And if I ever need a safe opened . . ." Jim added with a wink.

"You know who to call!" said Heyes, "A good lock smith, of course! And by the way, once I graduate, Beth and I and the Kid and Cat are gonna have a double wedding – you've got to come!"

Jim lit up like a Christmas tree on hearing that. "Of c-course Heyes!"

An elderly man limped out of Dr. Leutze's office. Heyes guessed he was one of the stroke victims they had so many of at the clinic. Soon the doctor himself looked out and summoned Heyes in. "Well, so you finally got the amnesty! Congratulations, Heyes!" Heyes glad took his doctor's hand.

It seemed like forever since Heyes' murder trial and he hadn't had any chance to speak to Dr. Leutze since then. It was a relief to finally get to thank him. "Thanks, Doc. I'd never have gotten there without you. That speech you gave at my trial – I'll never deserve all those nice things you said. Thank you so much, Doc!"

Dr. Leutze shook his head. "Heyes, I didn't say anything but the truth. You are such a gifted man, and a good one, too. I feel lucky to have gotten to work with you. Now it's your time to use those great gifts to help the world."

Heyes looked down and spoke softly, "I hope so, Doc. But they might not let me graduate. Or they might. The president of Columbia University has asked me to get some people to talk to the board on my behalf next Wednesday or thereabouts. I . . . would you . . . please . . ?"

The doctor smiled warmly at the former patient of whom he was so very proud. "Of course, Heyes, I'll be there."

"I'm in your debt, Doc," said Heyes. "Beth and the Kid and Cat and I would be very happy if you could come to our wedding. And maybe you'd like to give Beth away? We don't know the exact day yet – we've got to find out when, or if, I can graduate. I just couldn't . . ."

"I know, Heyes, I understand," said Leutze. "However does a former outlaw come to have such a keen sense of duty?"

Heyes studied the floor. "I did have parents, Doc. It was a long time ago that they died, but not forever. It took a while, but I guess what they taught me finally won out. I got to go, Doc. I'll let you know when the board wants to hear from you."

Dr. Leutze, perceiving how embarrassed his former patient was, didn't try to make him stay.

As Heyes left Dr. Leutze's office, he saw Beth arriving. Polly kissed her and warmly welcomed her. "Beth! I'm so glad to have you back – and to have Heyes get the amnesty at last! Heyes just went into the Doc's office; oh, here he is coming out again. That was short."

"Honey, do you have a minute?" asked Heyes rather self-consciously, "I know you're busy . . ."

"Heyes, it's fine. Come on in," said Beth.

As Heyes walked in and sat in the chair usually reserved for patients – as he had been – Beth asked, "Heyes, why would you worry about asking for a few minutes?"

"Honey, I don't want to make you look bad with your employer. Putting your fiancé before patients can't look good. I don't want to put your career in any danger." Beth could see the sadness and guilt in Heyes' dark eyes.

Beth put a hand on Heyes' hand where it rested on her desk. "Heyes, what is it? They know you here – they know us both. The people who count understand what's going on. You couldn't possibly endanger my career by spending a few minutes alone with me when it looks so scandalous for us to be alone almost anyplace else. They do understand. So what's really bothering you?"

Heyes just looked at her for a long, awful moment. Beth was uncomfortably aware of the lines across his brow. The stress he was under made him look aged in just the last few weeks. "I . . . oh honey, I feel like such a hypocrite. Asking you to give up your good, solid career so I can try for my career with no guarantees. I mean, is it just because I'm a man and you're a woman? Everybody assumes you'll just give up everything you've worked for so you can follow me to whatever out of the way place I wind up teaching, or keeping books, or whatever they allow an ex-outlaw to do. It's wrong. Let Cat and Jed have a single wedding. If I can make a decent living someplace, then you can come wherever it is and marry me – if you still want to."

Beth took a deep breath. "What is it with you, Hannibal Heyes? Is seven years of running and three days in prison not enough punishment for you? You just keep beating yourself up! Honey, I'm marrying you because I love you more than anything or anybody in the whole world. And that includes my career. I'm marrying you because it would kill me to go on not being able to be with you for more than a few minutes at a time. I don't care that much about the practicalities. I can probably get a decent teaching post wherever you wind up, I hope. But if you can have the career you've waited so long for, it just doesn't matter so much what I can do – so long as I can be with you. What I'd like most, now, would be to stay home and raise babies for a while. I've had a better career already than most women ever get a chance at. It's almost too late to have babies. You're the man I want to have them with! I don't want to wait any longer. Alright Hannibal Heyes?"

Heyes' answer to that didn't require any words at all. He was still breathing a bit hard as he wiped lipstick off his face with Beth's clean handkerchief, straightened his shirt and tie, and walked out into the hall. Heyes tried with only fair success to keep a grin off his face.

As Heyes emerged from Beth's office, he almost ran slap into Dr. Goldstein. "Do you really deserve that good woman, Joshua Smith?" ask the doctor with a smile.

"Probably not, Doc, but I'm sure glad to have her," said Heyes, grinning more broadly yet. "And do you really not know what had your boss in Montana for a week?"

The smile vanished from Dr. Goldstein's grey-bearded face. "I know that he was testifying in court to help a former patient. I assume that patient was you."Heyes nodded. "More details, the discrete folks around here have kept from me. Do you have a moment in my office to explain to me, Joshua?"

Heyes nodded again and followed the elderly doctor into his office. "For starters, Doc, Joshua Smith is an alias that I can't legally use any longer. My real name is Heyes. Hannibal Heyes."

The doctor's eyes widened. While he was scarcely knowledgeable about things to do with the Wild West, even he knew that name. Heyes was impressed by the discretion of his doctor and his fiancé, and especially the often indiscrete Jim. Dr. Goldstein did not pry, but he wouldn't ignore facts left under his nose. When he had had a few seconds to take in his old patient's real identity, Goldstein seemed more amused than horrified. "So that's what you've been hiding, Mr. Heyes. I admit that I had my suspicions that Smith was an alias, though I wouldn't have guessed at your hiding such a famous name. I'm glad that you at least got a good education and won't, I hope, be going back to robbing people."

Heyes smiled, glad to find another person who heard his real name and wasn't afraid of him. "I certainly won't rob anyone ever again, Doctor. My partner and I got amnesty after going straight for more than seven years. We won't mess that up. The deal is that he'll be a sheriff in Colorado, and I've got to try to find a faculty position, hopefully in one of the four states whose governors granted the amnesty. But first I need to get my BA and MA, and there's no guarantee of that. I need to make my case in front of the Columbia University board next week. Would you consider speaking to them on my behalf?"

Goldstein spoke thoughtfully, "I would be glad to do that, Mr. Heyes. You've been an exemplary patient and student, as you well know. But we haven't been as close as you have been with Dr. Leutze or with Beth Warren, certainly. You don't have to ask me to avoid offending me. You must have a regular parade of people to speak for you. You're a very popular young man, from what I hear."

Heyes grinned in some discomfort. "Actually, Doc," he said, "I thought you would be a particularly effective advocate because we have a more professional relationship. That might be more impressive to the board than just a parade of my close friends."

Goldstein nodded. "That's a very rational approach, Mr. Heyes. In that case, please let me know the time and place, and I will gladly speak for you."

"Does it really not bother you – my past, Dr. Goldstein?" asked Heyes.

Goldstein stopped and thought for a moment before he answered. "I suppose it does take some getting used to. But I think you have amply proven to be a good citizen and a good man, now. I will note that your good conduct toward Sam, who cannot possibly thank you in any way, is a strong factor in your favor. He will presumably never learn to speak again, or even to understand more than a very little of what is said to him. What bad man would be good to so helpless a person?"

Heyes shrugged. "What can I say? I like the guy. He does nice things for people when he doesn't even know their names. He needs all the friends he can get. I can see his point of view. I've been there. I can use friends, too. I'm just glad to have some who haven't given up on me since they learned my name."

As Heyes walked down the hall to leave the clinic, he felt that he had been very fortunate to find so many people there who remained loyal to him even after learning who he was. It was a good place and he was lastingly grateful to ever have come there. As Heyes got down the steps and started to go down the sidewalk, the clinic's third doctor, Dr. Bartholomew, hurried down the steps and started to pass Heyes on the sidewalk.

Then the young blonde doctor, notorious for his nocturnal adventures around New York with myriad women, turned to face the clinic's former patient. "Did I hear right? Are you really Hannibal Heyes?"

"Yeah." Heyes looked at the doctor defiantly.

"Good God, man! And I thought I was the most dangerous man at the clinic. But I'm telling you, Heyes, if you hurt Beth Warren . . . !"

"What business of yours it is, I don't see. But I would never hurt Beth. I've stopped robbing people and I've stopped betraying women." Heyes was sorely tempted to say, "I wish you could say the same!" but he resisted the temptation.

"Well good-luck to you, Hannibal!" Dr. B. clapped Heyes on the shoulder.

The former outlaw bristled, although he realized that the doctor was just being friendly. "Just Heyes, Doc, I don't use the first name."

"Why is that, if I may ask?" asked the doctor curiously.

Heyes tried not to sound as hostile as he felt. "No, you may not. Just because I've got to use my right name after we got amnesty doesn't mean I have to share the whole bloody history."

"No offense, Heyes!" The doctor said uneasily. He was evidently starting to realize just who he was annoying and what kind of friends the former outlaw might have outside of the clinic and Columbia University.

Heyes shook his head. "No, of course not. It's just a bad story. I've got to go, Doctor. Got a lot to do today."

Heyes next headed toward Columbia University. He picked up a hotdog from a street vendor on his way. He had missed New York hot dogs during the past month, along with countless other familiar things.

It felt very strange for Heyes to walk down the halls of Columbia University knowing that he had to use a different name than when he had last been there. Heyes headed first toward the graduate assistant office where he knew that some of his friends would be working as they taught summer classes. But as Heyes went down the hall of the main classroom building, the first person he met wasn't one of his fellow graduate students. It was Tom O'Keeffe, the very young undergraduate from Montana whom Heyes had tutored. The teenager was deftly swinging down the hall with his leg braces and strong arms.

"Joshua!" called Tom gladly, "Haven't seen you in months! How are you?" Then he stopped, noticing Heyes' very short hair and the cut on his face. Being the brutally frank young man that he was, he said, "Can't say I think much of your hair cut! Why'd you decide to do that?"

Heyes looked uneasily at Tom. Now the hard revelations, the clash of his two worlds, would come out again. "Wasn't my decision, Tom. It was the Wyoming State Penitentiary."

Tom's mouth opened and closed. He was a quick thinker and followed the news from his home state and the neighboring western states carefully. So he put a bunch of things together quickly. "No! You can't be . . ."

Tom could see the pain in his old tutor's eyes, "Yeah, Tom. I'm real sorry to have had to lie to you and everybody, before. I can't use the alias anymore that I was using when I tutored you. By legal agreement, I have to use my real name and I guess you've figured . . ."

"Hannibal Heyes!" Tom cried.

Heyes nodded. "Yeah. That's me. I just use the last name, please. Well, you gonna yell at me, Tom? I'd understand."

Tom grinned broadly. "Yell at you? No! I'm gonna shake your hand and say congratulations on the amnesty! You got your MA yet?"

Heyes shook his former student's hand, which the young man accomplished by tucking one crutch deftly under his arm while he balanced on his spindly, braced legs. Heyes looked solemn and spoke quietly. "No. I don't know if they'll let me graduate. I've got to make my case in front of the board next week. I need some character witnesses. Say, would you be one, Tom? I'd be no end grateful if you would," said Heyes, with eagerness creeping into his voice. He remembered how the president had mentioned Tom. Heyes didn't want to exploit his young protégé, but the bright handicapped undergraduate from the West could be a compelling spokesman, if only his blunt speech didn't cause trouble.

"Sure . . . um Mr. Heyes." It was suddenly occurring to Tom just who he was bantering with and that perhaps he had better be more respectful.

"Thanks! And just Heyes is fine. We outlaws – former outlaws – don't stand on ceremony, you know," said Heyes, flashing his infectious grin.

"So I really had Hannibal Heyes the outlaw as a tutor? And I can really tell people that?" Tom looked utterly star struck.

Heyes nodded. "Sure, you can tell people. But former outlaw, please. The Kid and I've been straight for more than seven years. We're both getting honest jobs and getting married."

Tom's eyes shone with excitement. "Is the Kid in town? Could I meet him?"

"Yes and yes, Tom," said Heyes with a grin. "He'd be upset if he didn't get to meet you."

"Kid Curry wants to meet ME?" Tom couldn't believe it.

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, but please play down the Kid stuff. He prefers Jed these days. He's gonna be a sheriff, so it sounds better. I got to go, Tom, but I'll let you know when and where with the board. And thanks!"

Heyes waved good-bye to his former student and continued down the hall to the mathematics department's graduate student lounge.

"Gee, this place is ratty!" said Ev Carter, picking up a heap of discarded newspapers and throwing them away so he could have a clean chair to sit. "I'll be glad when I can graduate and have my own office and a nice, clean faculty lounge to hang out in someplace!"

"I'm with you there!" agreed Paul Huxtable, brushing an old paper cup off a small table into a trashcan.

Heyes stepped into the room and said, "Funny, I was thinking how much I'll miss this place. And you guys."

Ev, and NG, and Huxtable all glanced at Heyes and felt a bit guilty. It occurred to them that what looked ratty to them must be palatial compared with a prison. And in contrast to all of them Heyes, with his notorious name, had no guarantee of finding a good faculty position. He would be lucky to be able to work in the field of mathematics at all – especially if Columbia refused to graduate him.

"Good to see you – Heyes," said Ev Carter awkwardly, using a name he wasn't used to for his friend. "Welcome back! Charlie said you got amnesty."

"Yeah, welcome home, Heyes! We were wondering when you'd show up," said Neal George. Huxtable smiled but didn't say anything yet.

Heyes didn't answer. He looked distracted, staring silently into space. Feeling his friends staring at him, he pulled out of it. "Guys, can you meet us tonight at Rory's Place for drinks – say 6:00? Then we'll go on to dinner."

"Us? You and Charlie?" asked Ev.

Heyes said, "No, me and Jed. Charlie said he'd skip it."

"Jed?" asked Huxtable.

Heyes answered, "My cousin. His real name's Jedediah."

NG stared intently at Heyes. "You mean Kid Curry?"

"Yeah," said Heyes casually. "My partner. He wants to meet you guys before the graduation and the wedding."

Heyes was dismayed to see the nervous looks his friends gave him. Young Huxtable looked especially uneasy. "He wants to meet us?" asked the youngest of the group of graduate mathematics students.

Heyes tried to set his friends at ease. "Of course. He's heard a bunch about you. Come on, guys, you know you don't have to be afraid of my cousin. You saw him getting on the train. Did he look dangerous?"

"Yeah, he did," said Huxtable. "We're going to meet Kid Curry in a bar. What could go wrong?"

Heyes laughed. "Don't worry! He's perfectly dependable. He won't draw unless somebody draws on him."

"He's bringing his Colt?" asked NG, swallowing hard.

Heyes laughed again. "Of course not! I was kidding you! Get a grip, guys. Jed Curry is a perfectly sensible guy. He's been in New York before and knows how to behave. He's always telling me how I've got no sense and wouldn't know what to do without him. You aren't afraid of me, are you?"

There was a tense silence.

"Oh come off it! You've all known me for five years! You know I'm not dangerous." Now Heyes was the one starting to feel uneasy. Had his friends really all lost faith in him?

Ev cleared his throat, "Actually, Heyes, I've got to admit that that name of yours is taking some getting used to. And you did kill a man."

Heyes blew out his breath. This was getting as hard as he had feared. "I had to guys, I had to. The court agreed with me on that."

"But you got in a situation where you had to shoot a man to death. And you did it without a thought. You were ready. That's just not the Joshua Smith we thought we knew," said NG slowly.

Heyes sighed. "I get it. If you don't want to come tonight, you don't have to. I'll find some excuse to give Jed. He'll be disappointed, and so will I. And Beth and Cat at dinner afterward. And if you don't want to come to the graduation or the wedding, we'll understand. But we'd sure miss you!"

"Aw, Heyes! That's not it!" said Paul Huxtable. "We wouldn't run out on you! You just got to realize, it's - well, it's an adjustment."

"For me, too, guys, for me, too," said Heyes wearily. "For a while there I jumped every time I heard my name from anyone but Jed. For so long my name was nothing but trouble, even for me and the Kid. I mean, especially for me and the Kid. The first time I had to sign Hannibal Heyes – in prison – it felt really strange. And signing it over and over on legal papers. I kept being afraid I'd misspell it!"

All of his friends laughed. That broke the ice.

"And guys, I don't know if I'll get to graduate. You can help, if you want to. The Columbia board is gonna meet next week and they'll want to hear about me from people who . . . well, if you still do trust me. Would you guys all speak? Can you make it? Sounds like maybe next Wednesday." He looked from face to face uncertainly.

"Of course, Heyes!" said Huxtable warmly.

"And me!" added Ev Carter.

"And you know you can count on me!" said Neal George. "But I've got a class to lead in about," he pulled out his old pocket watch and glanced at it, "oh! Two minutes! Bye Heyes!" NG dashed out with his canvas bag full of books and papers.

"Oh, me too!" cried Huxtable and set off down the hall.

Carter smiled at Heyes. "Looks like I'm all you got left and I have a kid to coach in a little while. But we'll all see you tonight. We're really happy for you, Heyes. It's just, well, strange to realize who we've been friends with all this time. It's like there's two of you."

Heyes smiled crookedly. "Well, there ain't. There's just me. Guess I've changed. Hope I have. But it's still me."


	64. Chapter 64

There was a lively but small crowd laughing and drinking in the lower east side bar Rory's Place on a Tuesday evening in early June. A trio of Columbia University mathematics graduate students had claimed the right end of the bar for themselves. They had often been there of an evening, but this time felt a bit different. For one thing, their friend Joshua Smith was absent. But, as they often did, they were griping about school. "Did you ever hear anything as asinine as that boy in the hall today, complaining about the perfectly reasonable B you gave him, Missouri?" asked Ev, who then took a long draw on his beer.

"Whining undergrad!" scoffed Huxtable, the twenty-year-old graduate student, "They're so pitiful!"

NG, older than even the elder of his two friends by over twenty years, sagely pointed out, "Even more than we were last year when we were undergrads ourselves . . . ?''

"It is amazing how anybody can tear through classes and get ahead of us all the way Joshua . . . I mean . . . Heyes . . ." Carter tripped over not only their old friend's new name, but so many of his previous assumptions about their fellow grad student. The trio fell quiet and, as one, they looked over their shoulders toward the door. They couldn't help anticipating with some trepidation the arrival of their friend formerly known as Joshua Smith and the infamous gunman who was his partner.

As they turned back to the bar Huxtable asked uneasily, "What d'you think he'll be like?"

"Who?" asked Neal, staring into his glass.

"You know who! Kid Curry!" said Ev softly enough that no one besides his friends would hear him. He saw Huxtable's eyes get wide as the red-headed twenty-year-old looked over his shoulder again at the bar's front door. Ev and NG turned to follow young Huxtable's gaze. A pair of men had just come in, one very familiar one with short dark hair, and one far less familiar figure with honey-blonde hair that had barely grown out enough to start curling. It was the most notorious pair of retired outlaws in the country and they were sauntering in the direction of the Columbians. Even the normally unflappable Neal George couldn't help having his heart beat a bit faster as Kid Curry came to lean on the bar next to him. Neatly clad in a suit, with no gun at his hip, the Kid didn't look quite the way the former printer had pictured him. But still, NG had a hard time meeting those keen blue eyes even as Curry smiled warmly at him.

"Gentlemen, meet my partner." said Heyes to his college friends. He could see how nervous they all looked. "Aw, come on, guys! This is my little cousin Jed! He wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"'Less that fly wants to sting my partner. Then I can just get a little mean," joked Curry with a mock frown contradicted by sparkling eyes. As his frown turned into a grin and then a chuckle, the trio of Columbians slowly relaxed and started to laugh.

Heyes grinned with relief as he turned to Curry, "Jed, that's Neal George the Philadelphia printer beside you. We call him NG. Then there's Paul Huxtable, the Missouri Kid, with the fiery hair. And the skinny guy next to him is Ev Carter. He has the prettiest girlfriend on campus – except for mine, of course."

"Glad to meet you boys," said the Kid heartily, shaking each man's hand in turn. "I want to thank you for keepin' this fool partner of mine safe when I ain't with him. He never could look after himself for a minute together." He winked at the Columbia students.

"Actually, Mr. Curry," said Huxtable, "J . . . Heyes is usually the one who looks after us! Don't know what we'll do when he graduates and goes off to teach someplace."

"Aw, please forget the Mister. I go by Jed with friends," said Curry mildly.

The bartender came up and asked Heyes, "Smith, what can I get you and your new friend?"

"A cold Bud would hit the spot," said the Kid and Heyes nodded that he'd have the same. Refrigerated beer was still a novelty that Curry enjoyed when he was in New York where he could get it.

"What do they call you?" Harry the bartender asked Curry as he brought the beers.

Heyes steeled himself. Here it came again – the name thing - double-barreled this time. The Kid said, "I'm Jed Curry. Sounds like you've served my partner a lot of beers."

"Partner!" exclaimed Harry, shaking Curry's hand, "I never knew Smith here had a partner like you hear about out West!"

"Yeah, Harry," said Curry, keeping his voice low so as not to let anyone other than the bar tender and their own group of friends hear him, "And you can't call my partner Smith no more, not after we got our amnesty. He's got to use his right name. And that's Hannibal Heyes."

The stunned bartender dropped the glass in his hand onto the bar's tile floor, where it shattered. Every eye in the place was trained on Harry as he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he bent over and had to wipe his eyes. Some bar patrons, even though they didn't know what was so funny, automatically joined in the laughter. They were certainly curious to find out what had the bartender so tickled. When Harry could speak, he choked out, "Very funny, Mister! I thought you just said this guy was Hannibal Heyes! I've known him five years! This is Joshua Smith the grad student! He's a seriously hard-working guy – farthest thing from an outlaw! And everybody who reads the paper knows that Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry are in prison in Wyoming, anyhow. So you can't be Kid Curry, either!" Heyes cringed to have everyone in the small bar listening avidly to the popular bartender's speech. He didn't suppose that it did any real harm. But after over twenty years of hiding, he felt very uncomfortable having his identity brought into the light of day.

"Funny thing how our getting thrown into prison made all the papers, Kid, but our getting amnesty and getting let out didn't. Guess they prefer bad news," said Heyes to his partner. He spoke just loudly enough that not only Harry could hear him – other people in the bar might also hear, if they listened carefully.

"Ah come on, Smith," said Harry, laughing again, "You've had your joke! Let up!"

"Harry," said Heyes, leaning hard on the bar and fixing his brown eyes seriously on the bartender, "why do you think our hair is so short?" He paused. The bartender had no answer and began to look far less sure that this was a joke. "They shaved our heads in the Wyoming State Pen, that's why. And this cut on my cheek? That was a guard who wore a diamond ring and liked to hit prisoners with it. I asked the Kid not to bring his Colt, or he could give you a demonstration of fast draw that would leave you with no doubts whatsoever."

Harry gaped as he looked from the one partner to the other and back again. His eyes widened. "Boys," he whispered to the Columbians, suddenly not to eager to have other patrons hear him, "he's kidding, right?"

"No, Harry," said Neal George. "About a month ago we saw Heyes arrested by the New York police and a whole bunch of federal marshals. They came to a dance in Central Park and took him away in handcuffs at gunpoint. You remember seeing that in the newspapers?" The bartender nodded silently. "We were all standing right there. And we went up to his murder trial in Montana and the armed robbery trial in Wyoming. I promise you, these guys are Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. But they aren't in the crime business any longer."

Now every eye in Rory's Place was fixed on the pair of former outlaws. Some men were beginning to edge toward the door.

"Don't go, guys! We won't hurt anybody! Four governors trusted us enough to let us out of prison and give us amnesty!" said Heyes to the bar in general. He didn't want to cost his favorite bar customers and get asked to leave like he had at the deli that morning.

"We been straight more'n seven years, boys!" said Curry to their fellow drinkers. "And I didn't even bring my Colt. So just take it easy."

With the Kid's friendly smile to convince them, the people who had been thinking of leaving decided to stay. Some of those who stayed kept glancing curiously at the pair of retired outlaws. For a moment the atmosphere felt tense. But then a jolly bar-goer raised his beer toward Heyes and Curry, saying, "Congratulations on your freedom, boys!" A chorus of voices agreed with him and glasses were raised.

"Thanks, guys!" said Heyes genially, raising his glass in reply.

The Kid turned and shook hands with the pudgy cab-driver leaning on the bar at his left. "Yeah, thanks!" Curry added.

A suited businessman down the bar tried the order a round of drinks for the famous outlaws, but Heyes politely refused, "Thanks, sir. But we're about on our way – goin' to have dinner with our girls. Real pretty girls – we don't want to keep 'em waiting, you know?"

Eventually the rest of the bar decided to let the outlaws have some peace, but there was still a lot of talk around the bar in which their names featured prominently. Heyes glanced around the smoky bar. A lot of curious eyes looked back at him. Then he looked back at his own friends. He shrugged at them. "Sorry for being so damn conspicuous. That's gonna take some getting used to. Hope it'll settle down soon."

"I thought you'd been famous for a long time, Heyes," said Carter, puzzled.

"Famous and conspicuous are two different things, boys!" laughed Heyes. "Before we got the amnesty, the next easy step from conspicuous would have been dead."

"Yeah, we're used to keepin' our names pretty quiet," said Curry, after a long pull on his beer. "Wish old Harry here hadn't seen fit to drop that glass. One man at a time is easier than a whole crowd. Used to be, our right names would get us chased by every sheriff and posse and bounty hunter goin'. And we never knew when somebody might take 'em up on the dead end 'dead or alive.'" Heyes nodded with a grimace. He knew it too well. Curry continued, "I feel right naked without my Colt." The two former outlaws exchanged a quiet glance. Curry had said without his Colt; he hadn't said without a gun. As their carefully directed looks had confirmed to one another, both men were actually discretely carrying small pistols. Their amnesty was much too new for them to feel safe without such assurances, if they ever would.

"How long were you two wanted, anyhow?" asked Huxtable.

"That's two different answers, Missouri," said Heyes. "I'm older and I went bad first and worst. I was wanted when I was 15 – in 68'. The dead or alive part took a few more years. Was in 71' I think. Gee, that's long time ago! Missouri, you must've just gotten born about that time, huh? Kid, when did you see your first poster?"

"Heyes, cut it out!" pleaded Curry.

"What? Oh. Alright, Jed, when did you see your first poster?" Heyes amended his question with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Thank you!" said Curry crisply, exasperated at how long his partner was taking to change his old habits. "71', if you gotta know. Guys, can we talk about something else, least ways in public? I'm gonna be a sheriff and that kinda' talk don't help none."

The three Columbians exchanged their own glances. Carter suppressed a little grin at the tension between the partners.

"And I hope to be a professor, as you know, so Jed's got a point there about subjects in public," added Heyes.

"So, Heyes, do you think they will graduate you?" asked Ev Carter. There was an edgy pause.

Heyes took a swig of beer. He tried to keep his voice casual. "I don't know. First I think they'd be crazy not to. After all, they've got five years of work and scholarships invested in me. And then I think they'd be crazy to have me out there with the Columbia stamp on me – a notorious ex-outlaw whose bad name seems like it'll never fade no matter what I do."

"Aw, Sm . . . sorry, Heyes. You've still got time to be a famous mathematics professor!" said Neal George. "You're still young! Or younger than I am, anyhow."

"How'd you get to college, George?" asked Curry, eager to find out more about Heyes' friends and to distract his partner from worrying about his own future.

NG took a moment to get his thoughts together. "I was working in the press room for the _Philadelphia Inquirer_. I got to talking to one of the writers about my ideas for the paper. He got me to write up some stuff – little stories on human interest stuff and city hall things. After he looked at a few, they actually published one. Then they published another. No by line, you know, so nobody knew who it was and I guess nobody noticed. But the writer – guy named Charlie Fosdick who did fiction – got me to take an English class at Drexel. I thought it was pretty interesting, and I liked the company."

"But Drexel's a college in Philadelphia. How'd you get from Philadelphia to New York and English to math?" asked Heyes, who knew only scattered bits of this story.

"Simple," said NG. "The publishing money's really more in New York, these days. I got a better job in the press room of a paper in New York. And then I took an English class at Columbia. There were some math guys in my English class, and they seemed like the interesting guys. So I took a math class and did alright. I always did like math, and it turns up a lot on technical stuff in printing. So there you go." He concluded modestly.

"You mean, so they saw what great work you did and offered you a scholarship and the rest his history!" said Huxtable with a smile. "Don't leave out the good parts! You never give yourself enough credit, NG!"

It wasn't long before all the Columbians, and the Kid, finished their beers and were ready to go to dinner. "Good night, Harry!" called Heyes, flipping a tip in the man's direction. "We'll see you another night before the Kid heads West."

"Thank you, Mr. Heyes!" said Harry, still disconcerted at learning his long-time patron's real name. "We'll always be glad to see you both."

As the five men walked in a tight group toward the restaurant where they would meet their lady friends, Heyes said quietly, "Boys, can we please keep the names quiet around the restaurant help? They've got no reason to know our right names, long as we pay cash. A bar might welcome ex-outlaws, but a lot of proper businesses won't. I'm not eager to get thrown out like I did from the deli this morning."

"Really, Heyes?" asked the Kid in surprise. "Somebody threw you out just 'cause 'a your name?" The Columbians looked grieved but not shocked at this.

Heyes said, "Yeah, Jed. I don't know about out West, but in New York, you'd better get used to it. We ain't universal heroes."

Dinner was at an Italian place where Beth and Heyes had often eaten. Beth had reserved a big table in a private back room so they could talk with relative freedom. The walls were covered with paintings of gondolas and Italian churches and castles that reminded Heyes of his dreams of European travel with Beth. All such future plans hung in the balance now. Heyes was surprised to see so large a crowd waiting for them and coming in just behind them. There were a dozen of them in all! The Kid gave Cat a quick kiss and introduced her to the Columbians. "Boys, this is my girl, Cat Christy. We'll get married soon as Heyes gets his sheepskins so we can do it all in one. Cat, this is Paul Huxtable, Ev Carter, and Neal George. I get all those right? I did? Gimme an A, professor."

Heyes took up the introductions from there, finding many aspects of his life meeting up and thus many people who didn't yet know each other. "And guys, this is Polly Moore, our friend from the Leutze Clinic. You all know Jim Smith already. And Cat and Kid, this is Betsy Holbein, Ev's fiancée, and Marcie Johnson, who's seeing Neal George. Matthias Peale couldn't come – he's in Montana. Oh, and here's Karen Horn, also from Columbia," Heyes ended awkwardly. He wasn't at all sure whether Miss Horn was still seeing Huxtable or not. He thought not. But he wasn't sure what his former student was doing there. He had wondered the same thing when he saw her name on the list of those paying for his lawyer. The stunning strawberry blonde Texan met Heyes' questioning glance boldly. Heyes had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what she was doing there and he didn't like it one bit.

Heyes sat in the center of the long table with Beth on his one side and the Kid on the other. Karen Horn managed to dart into the seat opposite Heyes and next to the blushing Huxtable. If Miss Horn was not besotted with Huxtable, he certainly was with her. He could hardly take his eyes off her. But, much to Heyes' embarrassment, he was the one whom Miss Horn was watching all through dinner.

"Have you boys got straight what you want to say to the Columbia board about Heyes?" asked Beth, looking at the three Columbians.

Heyes interrupted Ev Carter's response. "Nothing but the straight truth boys! I've met the president and the deans and some of those guys on the board. They won't be fooled by any high-flown stuff. Please, just stick to the facts and keep it simple. I don't want you to look coached, like bad trial witnesses! Sorry, Ev, but I wanted to get that said."

"That's alright, Heyes. You're right. I've met the president and the deans, too, after all," said Ev genially. "And by the way, I met the president today. He asked me to see if Mr. Curry can see him in his office tomorrow morning about 10:00. Can you do that, Mr. Curry?"

"Jed, I told you, Ev," said the Kid. "Of course I'll go talk to the president. Whatever I can do for my partner, it's no trouble. Sounds like you've got a bunch of folks to speak for you, Heyes."

"I'm mighty grateful to all of you," said Heyes, looking around the table, hardly able to believe how many friends were gathered in support of him.

"Say, Heyes, you gonna have Professor Reynolds speak for you?" asked Huxtable with a playful wink. There was general laughter from all of the Columbia students, including Heyes and some-time student Beth.

"Oh, he might not be able to manage it. He might be too overcome with _ennui_!" chuckled Ev Carter, holding up a limp wrist.

"He might consider speaking for outlaws too unPlatonic!" observed Beth with a wicked glance at her fiancé. "At least I hope so – I can't stand that man any more than Heyes can!"

All the Columbians roared with laughter except for Heyes. He suddenly noticed the lost looks on the faces of Jed and Cat. They knew how Beth sometimes felt left out of their western references. Now the western people in Heyes' life were feeling left out in their turn. Heyes knew that it would not really make up for the gap between East and West when he quietly told Cat and Jed, "Reynolds is a philosophy professor who caused me a lot of problems one semester. He made it real obvious what an ignorant hick I was and how far he looked down his English snoot at me."

"What, after how hard you've worked and how well you've done?" asked Cat, appalled. "That was nasty of him!"

"Oh yeah!" Heyes said lightly, "He teased me about one-room schoolhouses and aphasia and my lack of background right in front of everyone. I hope to goodness I never have to meet him after he finds out my real name. He would never let it rest." Heyes shook his head ruefully at the thought.

Jed Curry said, "And I thought outlaws were rough! Least he never pulled a gun on you about it."

Heyes chuckled. "Yeah. Thank goodness for small favors. Academics may not be as rough as outlaws, but they can be just as mean. I've been lucky. Most of them have been decent to me. So far . . . I'm assuming half of them will turn on me when they find out."

"You're makin' me nervous, Heyes," said the Kid, the look on his face confirming his words.

"No more than me, Jed, no more than me," replied his partner. He took a sip of wine. He wished he could settle down and stop worrying about the ordeal to come in front of the board.

Ev said, "You ought to have some of your students speak for you, Heyes, after you won that award for teaching. Are you gonna speak for Heyes, Karen?"

"If he wants me to, I will," said the undergraduate in her decided Texas accent, looking into Heyes' eyes with fierce and unadulterated adoration.

"Miss Horn," asked Heyes, feeling suddenly even more uncomfortable. "Did you speak to Governor Hogg of Texas about Jed and myself?"

"Yes, Mr. Heyes, I did," she replied forthrightly. "I don't know what good it did, but I tried my best for you. Of course, I had never met Mr. Curry at that time, so I could only say that anyone Mr. Heyes would have as a partner must be a good man."

"Thank you very much, Miss Horn," said Heyes. "I feel sure that your words were a help."

"Yeah," said the Kid. "Thank you, Miss. That man wasn't exactly on our side before you got to him, from what we heard."

"Please, gentlemen, you're welcome to call me Karen," said Miss Horn, looking back and forth between two men she obviously found very attractive. But the darker one was her decided favorite.

Heyes, knowing what was expected of him, but hating to look like he was too interested in the very pretty Karen Horn, replied, "Please do call me Heyes, M . . Karen, unless you ever have another class with me. You know how that works."

"Of course, Heyes," said Karen, blushing prettily.

And Jed had to say, "And you be sure to call me Jed, Karen."

Beth looked at Heyes with raised eyebrows. He sighed and nodded to her. He knew what was going on and, distasteful as it was, he was going to nip it in the bud. As the party broke up after dinner and everyone was standing up to say good-bye, Heyes found himself next to Karen Horn. He looked her steadily in the eye and motioned for her to follow him into the main restaurant, which was nearly empty. He found a dark, deserted corner and motioned for the young woman to follow him there. "Miss Horn," said Heyes firmly.

"Please do call me Karen, Heyes," said the young lady with a trilling laugh. She drew as close to him as she dared.

Heyes spoke with steely eyes and an equally firm voice. "No, I will not. Not now. Miss Horn, I'm grateful to you for speaking to the Governor of Texas on our behalf. And I appreciate your offer to speak for me to the board. However, I suspect that you came here under false pretenses. Did you ask my friend Paul Huxtable to bring you?"

"Yes, I did, Mr. Heyes," replied Miss Horn. "He was glad to bring me."

Heyes tried to control his anger. "Miss Horn, that was wrong of you. You know that you have no feelings for Mr. Huxtable. You are practicing on him for your own benefit and at my expense. I consider it highly improper and I will not allow it. You have not exactly hidden your feelings for me."

"Mr. Heyes, I'm not a little girl with a crush . . . !"

Heyes contradicted her before she could say anything even more embarrassing. "Oh yes you are, to me. You can't be more than twenty. I'm nearly twice your age. And I'm about to be married! You must know that I cannot possibly return any such feelings. For you to sit there, right opposite my fiancé, is intolerable! I would also like to pay you back for whatever you paid for my lawyer. It is wrong for a teacher to take money from a student. It could very easily be misconstrued. It could cause me serious trouble."

"Mr. Heyes!" whispered Miss Horn in horror. "I had no idea . . . "

Heyes began to lose patience, but he kept his voice very low. He didn't want anyone to overhear and misunderstand. "If not, then you were serious naïve. How much was it, Miss Horn? I will pay you back for it right now, in cash. And don't lie about the amount. I can easily consult Professor Homer and Mr. Peale about it."

Karen Horn was on the verge of tears. Swallowing hard, she choked out, "Twenty dollars."

Heyes opened his wallet. He handed Karen Horn two ten dollar bills. The bills lay on her outstretched, trembling palm. "I'm sorry to upset you, Mr. Heyes. I will leave now. I would still be pleased to speak for you."

"No! That would be unethical." said Heyes. "I'll get Paul to see you home. Please be decent to him. He is not responsible for my behavior, only for his own, which I am sure has been honorable."

"It has, Mr. Heyes. As has your own. I'm sorry." Karen Horn looked away and would not meet Heyes' eyes. He thought she was crying. As Huxtable came out from the back room, Karen Horn fell into step beside him and took his hand. Huxtable was delighted and didn't even stop to think what might have caused the sudden change in her attitude. He just enjoyed it.

Heyes and Beth said good-bye to each of their friends in turn as they went out to catch cabs home. Huxtable and Karen Horn left first. "That young lady has a serious thing for you, Mr. Heyes," said the Kid under his breath as they left. "Did I see you paying her off?"

"Only for what she put out for my lawyer," said Heyes, the pain evident in his voice. "Oh Kid, it's so stupid. She's sure she's in love with me. I guess she's a decent girl, really. But I've already got a real decent girl in love with me, and that one I love!"

Beth overheard some of this. She took Heyes' hand. "It's alright, Heyes. I know. Every good-looking professor has the same problem and you know it. I knew what I was signing on for when you asked me to marry you."

As they got out on the sidewalk, Heyes said to Beth, with his arm around her waist, "Oh honey, I paid her back $20.00 that she gave Charlie Homer for my lawyer. Now I don't have money for a cab. We'll have to walk to your place and mine! I'm so sorry!"

Beth squeezed her man's hand. "Never fear, Heyes, I've got money for a cab both ways. I won't make you walk."

Heyes moaned, "A kept man, that's what I am! When am I ever going to make enough money to even start to support you like you deserve?"

"After you graduate and somebody realizes what a brilliant teacher you are!" said Beth, as Heyes leaned over to give her a passionate kiss.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

That night in the Black Eagle Hotel, the Kid sat on his bed. Cat, having used the communicating door, was sitting near him.

"Did it ever strike you, Cat," asked the Kid as he nuzzled the back of his nearly naked fiancée's neck, "that Heyes might be happier stayin' here in New York?"

"Yeah, Kid, it has," said Cat, as she leaned back against the completed naked Curry. "He sounds real happy with all those school boys. And Beth, she never teases him like that out West."

The Kid reached around Cat to touch her in more sensual location that made her sigh hard. But he kept talking about the other couple. "But then, you know, I think she'll be happy where he's happy. And I guess it's up to them, anyhow."

"How sensible of you, Mr. Curry," said the future Mrs. Curry. "Now let's stop talking about them and do somethin' about you an' me while we can."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next morning as the pair of finely suited men rode in a cab toward Columbia University, Heyes could see that his partner was starting to sweat. "Ain't that hot in here, Jed."

Curry ran a finger around his collar, trying to let in some air. "Is for me. I never met a college president before. I sure don't want to spoil things for you by sayin' the wrong thing, Heyes."

Heyes looked sympathetically at his partner. "You've met a senator and a governor and did just fine with them, K . . . sorry – Jed. I'm sure the president is rooting for me. He's just trying to get as much good stuff to say to the board as he can."

The Kid looked even more nervous at that, if possible. "I'll say all the pretty stuff I can, Heyes. And I'll keep off the bad stuff."

"Jed, just tell the truth. He's an old professor. He can spot a cheater or a liar at a thousand paces. Don't try to con the old boy! Alright?" Heyes said.

Curry took a deep breath and let it out. "Alright, Heyes."

"I'm mighty grateful to you, Jed, no matter what happens next week," said Heyes.

The cab pulled up in front of the tall building where the President's office was. Heyes paid and tipped the cabby and said to the Kid, "Here we are. He's on the second floor. I'll take you in, then I'll go over next door and visit with Charlie awhile, if he's here."

A lot of people were walking by on the sidewalk, as was usually the case in New York. The Kid said, "Sure, Joshua . . . sorry, Heyes. See, you ain't the only one as does it!"

"And it still ain't easy to say our real names in front of strangers, is it?" said Heyes.

Heyes escorted the Kid up the steps to the office of the president of his university. The young secretary greeted Heyes with a smile. "President Barnard is expecting you both, Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry. Please go right in."

Heyes and the Kid looked simultaneously toward each other and shared a tense smile. Then they walked into the elegantly appointed office of the president of Columbia University.

"President Barnard," said Heyes formally to the white-bearded man behind the polished desk. "may I present my cousin, Jedediah Curry."

The president put out a boney hand. "Good morning, Mr. Heyes. And I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Curry," he said in his cultured New England accent, softened by a friendly smile. "I surely do appreciate your coming to see me. I hope you can help me out in preparing for this board meeting to consider your cousin's unusual case."

"Good to meet you, sir," said Curry. "I'll do all I can for my partner. He's a good man, sir. He's a real good man."

"I know that, Mr. Curry. Now if we can just convince a board full of business executives to believe it!" Barnard turned to Heyes. "Mr. Heyes, can you give us a while alone? I'm sure you can find business on campus. Check back in oh, an hour, and we'll see if we're ready for you."

The Kid darted a distressed look at the Heyes. He had been intimidated by the thought of spending ten minutes talking to the president of Columbia University. The thought of an hour shook him thoroughly. He swallowed hard. The president smiled at him and called into the outer office, "Please bring a glass of water for Mr. Curry."

"See you gentlemen later," said Heyes, a little uneasy himself at the thought of this strange combination of his supporters spending such a long time in conversation.

As Heyes left the office, the president turned to Curry. "Now, Mr. Curry, I have some questions for you." Curry nodded uneasily. "When did you first meet Mr. Heyes?"

That was easy and it made Curry begin to feel less pressure. If this interview could stay with such easy facts, it might not be as bad as he feared. "On the day I was born, so they tell me. Our Ma's was cousins and real close. My Ma said Heyes wanted to hold me, but she worried he might drop me. He was only two! Guess you could say he ain't dropped me since." Curry stopped and looked self-consciously at the president. "I'm sorry, Mr. President. I ain't had much schoolin'. I know I don't talk good, like Heyes does. Hope you and those men on the board won't hold it against him."

"Please relax, Mr. Curry. We know that you and Mr. Heyes are two different people." The president tried to be as friendly as he could and to put Curry at ease. "It's strange to me to think that a famous gunman seems to be worried by talking to me. Believe, Mr. Curry, you have nothing to worry about. It's just that you and your partner have a lot of history in common. So please tell me about your schooling, and how yours and Mr. Heyes came to be different."

"Well," Jed began, "Heyes and me, our families was farmers in Kansas. Out there, there weren't no schools right off when we was real young. We just learned at home. My Ma, she didn't have the schoolin' that Heyes' Ma had. Then, when once we got a school built, it wasn't a year 'till the ruffians came and killed our folks in the border wars. Killed all the family we had out there, 'cept each other."

The President's mouth came opened in shock. "Oh my God, Mr. Curry! What a terrible thing for you! How old were you?"

Curry began to warm to his tale, "I wasn't but only seven years old, and Heyes, he was nine. Guess you could say he raised me since then, and a hard time he had at it."

So it really wasn't that hard for the president of Columbia University to get Jed Curry to talk about himself and his partner for a long time. As they began to get up to the present day, Curry had his own question. "Mr. President Barnard, Charlie Homer won't be in bad trouble cause he didn't tell you folks who Heyes is, will he? Charlie's been awful good to us. I'd hate to think Heyes and me got him into hot water."

The president chuckled softly. It was easy to see that he was fond of both Charlie Homer and Hannibal Heyes. "If it were some other professor and some other student, maybe so, Mr. Curry. But seeing that it's Charlie Homer, I don't think he'll have anything to worry about. If we were to bring any pressure to bear on Professor Homer, everyone knows he'd just retire. That would get him right off the hook. And frankly, we would rather not lose a fine professor like Charles Homer. He is really invaluable to us. So don't worry. Since the law chose not to act against him, Columbia University won't act either. I've already had a serious talk with Charlie and he knows how I feel. But he's in no danger from me or from the board. It does you credit that you ask."

While the Kid was talking with the president, Heyes didn't know what to do with himself. He walked the empty halls of Columbia restlessly, stalked by insecurities. He didn't see any of his friends around, or, mercifully, his enemies. Inevitably, he found himself in front of Charlie's door. He didn't know if his advisor would be there, but he knocked at the door. "Come in!" called the familiar voice. As the door opened he said happily, "Well, Heyes! How's it going?"

Heyes started out sounding pretty happy himself, "Great. I've got a bunch of people lined up to talk for me. And I have a lot of ideas for things I want to tell the president and deans and the board." He stopped and thought before going on, with far less confidence, "But the thing that really worries me is that, I know this sounds weird, but, I . . . I don't want it to sound too good. The whole thing is about the truth – that they can believe me. If I do this like a school lecture, if I have it all polished, they're gonna think I'm conning them. If there's anything that would be fatal, that's it."

Charlie nodded. "You're exactly right, Heyes. These guys have heard a lot of lectures and lots of them are business men. They pull cons on each other all the time. They know a con when they hear one. They'll sure be listening for you to lie. You are, or you used to be, way too good at that. And they know it. You have to separate out your old self and your new self as crisply as you can. And be utterly honest. Don't try to hide the bad things you did as a criminal. That would only compromise how much they can believe you now. They can, and will, check up on you. The deans and the president certainly already have done so to a fare thee well."

Heyes nodded and sighed heavily. "God, how I wish I could go back and change what I did!"

Charlie looked at his star student with real compassion. "But you can't. The board knows that. They're powerful but they're human – they've all done things they regret."

"Ha!" Heyes barked. "They've done things. I spent years not just going illegal things – but getting other people to break the law, too! I led a gang! Not just for a few days or a few months – for six years! Anything I do, any operation I lead, has got to be suspect to those guys."

Charlie nodded. "But there are two things you need to remember. You need to do a talk to them, that's true, but most of what you'll say will be in response to questions. So they'll be in charge, not you. You'll just be reacting. They just have to know that your answers are true – and that they matter to you. So you're so right. It can't look polished or rehearsed. And you absolutely can't rehearse your character witnesses. I need to be in charge of them, not you.

So honestly, Heyes, once you've asked people to speak, make sure I know about all of them, then try to forget about it. Give me the list, and I'll let them know the schedule and how it will work. That should take a lot off of your mind. There's just you, and there's nothing to prepare, there. I mean, you know the truth. You'll be speaking about things you know better than anything. The moral stuff you've got down pat. The thing I advise you to do right now is to remember what you've been doing for the past five years and what you want to do. Go work on your math for a while and start looking into faculty positions. But mostly, you could use some rest and some just plain fun. And I don't mean poker. I mean the things you've been wanting to do and couldn't do until now. You don't have to be afraid any more. Go take advantage of that. You can go riding on Long Island again if you want to! Or walk in Central Park with Beth. Or just sleep all day. Whatever you like. Alright?"

Heyes smiled wryly. "Alright, Charlie. I'll try to do that. I just wish it could all be over, one way or the other. It's bad enough having my life depend on this. There's Beth, too!" Heyes looked into Charlie's eyes with real desperation.

Then he stopped and put his head in his hands. "Even if the Columbia thing goes perfectly, Oh Christ, Charlie! How am I gonna be a husband? And to a great lady like Beth? I've been a love 'em and leave 'em guy since I was 15. What am I doing? Help me, Charlie!"

Charlie looked at Heyes in concern but he spoke lightly. "Come on, Heyes! You've been true to Beth for years now, haven't you?"

"Yeah, of course."

Charlie smiled. "Well? You already know how to do the most important thing. You know how to love that wonderful woman, and she knows how to love you. The rest, you'll both figure out from day to day just like everything else in life."

"I guess." Heyes didn't sound convinced.

"What is it, Heyes? That's a big problem that can only be solved one day, one hour, one minute, at a time. There's something else on your mind."

Suddenly Heyes sounded as trapped and helpless as he had ever felt in jail. "I . . . Charlie I don't have a ring for Beth. We're being married next week and I don't have a ring and I don't have money for one. And don't offer to lend me money. I'm in enough debt already. I don't want to get married with a ring bought on loans."

Charlie smiled affectionately at his favorite advisee. "Well, that makes it hard, then, doesn't it? Actually, it doesn't. Heyes, you're the closest thing I'll ever have to a son, now that my own is gone. Here. Get married with this."

Heyes put out a hand to take from Charlie's hand a delicate gold ring set with a single tiny white diamond. "That's Marie's, isn't it?" whispered Heyes, awestruck that Charlie would even think of parting with it.

Charlie sniffed. "Yes. It was. It would make me very happy for Beth to have it."

"Charlie, you've done so much for me already . . ." Heyes felt overwhelmed.

Charlie Homer held up his hand. "No arguments. I have a ring. You need a ring. It's all in the family. Alright? Son?"

Heyes dug in his pockets to find a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. After a moment he spoke hoarsely, "If I could pick a father other than my own, he'd be you. I don't know how to thank you . . . both of you."

Charlie Homer wiped his own eyes. "Be as happy together as you can. That's the best thanks we could ever have. Be happy and be good, alright Hannibal Heyes?"

Heyes said, "I didn't used to think you could do both at once. Now I know better. You and Marie showed me how."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes devoted the rest of the week to working on math, showing Cat and the Kid around New York sights, and going to concerts and art shows with Beth. And he and Beth did some practical planning for when they would set up housekeeping together.

But on Saturday, Heyes and the Kid had a different idea for some fun just for the two of them – or perhaps with one more. They both showed up at the Central Park riding stable in full western gear. They walked down the aisles looking at the immaculately groomed horses. And as they turned a corner, they saw Arthur Wainwright, who was in full eastern riding gear. Heyes and the Kid stood in the shadows outside the stall where Wainwright was preparing his horse for a ride in the park.

Heyes said, "Wainwright! It's been too long!"

Wainwright looked up, recognizing the voice. "Hi Smith! It sure has been a while since I saw you. I thought you must have gone on West."

"I did, for a while," said Heyes quietly. "I came back."

Wainwright was working on his own horse and he didn't look hard at Heyes. He just spoke over his shoulder. "Remember that time I asked you about Hannibal Heyes? I hate to bring it up again, but I've seen him in the papers a lot and wondered if you had seen more out West. He really seems like a remarkable guy. Just think what he could do if he had some real education!"

"Thanks, Wainwright," murmured Heyes in a low enough voice that no one else in the stable would be able to hear them. "I kinda' agree with you about the education. That's why I put in five years on it."

"Huh?" Wainwright finally looked around at Heyes. "What do you mean, Smith? And who's that with you?" Wainwright politely came out of his horse's stall to greet Smith and his friend.

Heyes smiled in the shadows. "Wainwright, remember when I told you about the time I got shot in the head, when a posse was riding after Heyes and Curry? Well, the guy with me now is the guy who was with me then. He saved my life after I got shot. He's done that a lot over the years. Wainwright, meet my partner, Jed Curry." Curry stepped into a shaft of sunlight that blazed on his short cropped hair. He put out his hand.

Wainwright looked at the two men in disbelief, too stunned to extend his own hand yet. His eyes darted to the Kid's right hip where a pistol was tied down. "Nice to meet you, Wainwright. My partner tells me ridin' and shootin' with you mighta' saved his life a few times." said the Kid. "So I guess you oughta' know the man by his right name. This guy is Hannibal Heyes."

Wainwright looked back and forth between the two men, his mouth coming open. He closed it and said, "That's not possible – Heyes and Curry are in prison in Wyoming! And Heyes couldn't possibly manage to get an MA in mathematics at Columbia University without getting turned in! That's just totally impossible."

"Impossible or not, Wainwright, he did it," said Curry. "Or he did if the board gives him those two sheepskins next week. They're still makin' up their minds about that."

Wainwright looked at Curry in horrified fascination. "You can't be Kid Curry! Not here!"

Heyes grinned wickedly. "Show him, Kid. Don't pull the trigger, but show him."

"De-lighted to," said the Kid.

"Show me what?" asked Wainwright. Before he finished speaking, the Kid had drawn his pistol so rapidly that it seemed as if the laws of physics had been momentarily suspended. Wainwright gasped and stepped back. Heyes grinned with proud satisfaction as he nearly always did when the Kid used his best draw. It was a good feeling to know that such a man was on his side.

"Good God!" exclaimed Wainwright. "You really are Kid Curry!"

"Yeah," said the Kid coolly. "Wish Heyes could open a safe for you, but it ain't so much fun to watch. 'Least not until he swings that big ol' door opened and brings out all that pretty money. But he don't do that no more, not since we went straight."

"And besides, it usually takes at least a couple of hours," said Heyes with a modest shrug. "It's pretty dull work for anybody but me. And I have no intention of ever being arrested again for anything, including safe cracking. Sorry about the having to use the alias, Wainwright. You really did save my life out West. I'm afraid you came up at the murder trial, but not by name. Just about the shooting range and why I was in such good practice when I killed that guy. I'm in your debt. What can I do to pay you back?"

Wainwright stared at his friend. "I saved your life?"

"By helping me keep in shape on riding and shooting, yes. You think Bunter would enjoy watching the Kid draw?" Heyes asked with a sparking-eyed grin.

Wainwright, finally starting to recover himself, grinned back. "Yes! I think he would! But before that, I'd be pleased if you two gentlemen would go riding with me and go to lunch afterward, my treat."

Curry shook his head. "Thanks, Wainwright, but count me out. I don't want to get on one of those little eastern saddles and feel like a fool. I can wait to get on a horse 'till I get back out to Colorado. See you later."

Wainwright was disappointed. "Don't go, Mr. Curry! They have a few horses here that will go in western gear, and they have some western saddles and bridles that get regular use. If you'll give me a few minutes, we can get you a horse in western tack."

"Well, alright, if you can fix it that easy," said Curry.

"And Wainwright, if they can do a second, I'd really rather go western myself," said Heyes with an embarrassed grin. "I came in western rig, as you can see. But cut me a break – I haven't been in the saddle in months! My ass is gonna ache so bad . . . I'm just glad it isn't Clay I'll be riding. I'd be embarrassed for my own horse to know how bad out of shape I am."

"Sure, Mr. Heyes," said Wainwright, "I'll get two horses in Western gear. Maybe I'll get one for me, too, and you two can teach me. I guess it'll be kind of dull just to ride in Central Park when you're used to being chased by posses."

"I'd rather have it dull the rest of my life, Wainwright!" laughed the Kid. "And please, drop the Mister. And I'd rather not use Kid either, since I'm gonna be a sheriff. Just call me Jed."

"And I'm just Heyes, to my friends, Wainwright," said Heyes.

"Alright!" responded Wainwright happily. He was delighted to be about to have the chance he had always wanted to talk with Hannibal Heyes at length, with Kid Curry thrown in. "You can call me Arthur, if you like."

"Thank, Arthur," said Curry. "It's a nice day out there and I'd be real partial to seeing it from a saddle."

Soon the three of them were cantering down a sun-dappled Central Park path. An organ grinder was playing happily in the background and children were laughing in a nearby playground. It was about as different from any ride that Heyes and the Kid had ever taken before as anything that they could imagine. When they got to a sharp turn in the path, they slowed to a long-reined walk. As they loitered down the path, a policeman in blue stepped out from under a big old oak tree. "Heyes, could I speak to you?" he asked.

Heyes stared in surprise at the man. "Sure, Officer Tryon. You know we got amnesty and a pardon, right?"

"Of course!" said Tryon.

"This is my partner, Jed Curry, and this is my friend Arthur Wainwright. Guys, this is officer Tryon. He's the man who arrested me. I sure hope he's not about to do it again! In fact I'm surprised to see you in blue, Tryon. Thought sure you'd be off retired someplace, enjoying that $15,000 you got off capturing me."

Tryon reached up to shake the hands of the two men on horseback at Heyes' side. "No, Mr. Heyes. The rail companies and banks and the stage coach company are still deciding who deserves the $15,000, if anybody does. I'd feel kind of bad claiming the money, to tell you the truth. I just wanted to let you know that we still have your personal effects at the station. Any time you want to drop by, you can pick them up. We'd kind of expected you before this. We aren't spying on you, but the authorities in Laramie told us when you took the train back to New York."

Heyes looked suspiciously at Troyon. "We're kinda' nervous about police stations, still. So I wasn't real eager to go over there. Keep worrying you that guys will figure out some new charge to grab us on. But do you really have all my personal effects? You know what I mean."

Tryon smiled uneasily. "Yes, Mr. Heyes. All of them – except for the bullets that were in your gun, of course."

Heyes' head went up in surprise. He had hoped to get his money and his watch back. But the pistol, knife, and pick locks he had not hoped ever to see again. The pick locks, in particular, were like parts of his body and he had mourned their loss. He had put countless hours into crafting them and learning to use them. He would be glad to get them back, even if he never had use for them again. "In that case, you'll see me over there real soon. I have good use for my money and my watch. How late are you open?"

Tryon chuckled. "New York City precincts are open 24 hours a day, every day of the week, Mr. Heyes. I would advise that you arrive between nine and five if you want prompt service for a matter that isn't an emergency, but someone could help you almost any time."

"Thank you, Officer Tryon," said Heyes with evident relief, "I'll be over there this afternoon. I'll bring the amnesty and pardon documents. I imagine that would help."

"It would. I'll let you enjoy your ride, gentlemen. And good luck to you!" said Troyon heartily. Heyes looked back as they rode away.

"What the heck, Heyes?" said Curry, "That's the guy who arrested you and now he's being all nice? Are you sure that's what it looks like?"

"I think, so, Jed. He's got a down on outlaws because a gang killed his brother out West in a not-nice way that we know too well. But when he found out I didn't do that kinda' thing and didn't like the guys who did, he changed his mind about us. He figured out that not all outlaws – or former outlaws –are bad. And partner, not all law is bad, or they wouldn't be taking you on."

"Guess so," said Curry. The three of them came around a bend to a meadow that gave them space for a good gallop. The wind in their faces felt good.


	65. Chapter 65

Late on a bright Tuesday morning, Heyes and Charlie walked down busy 42nd Street past news boys and fruit vendors. They turned in the doors of that grand red brick edifice, Grand Central Depot. They were meeting a passenger coming from Montana. They waited in the lobby. It wasn't long after the train was due that a young man came toward the western pair with a suitcase and briefcase in hand. "Thanks so much for coming all this way, Cole," said Heyes to his lawyer, Hardin Cole. Once Cole had dropped his luggage, Heyes heartily shook the young African-American's hand. "I really appreciate your making a statement for me to the Columbia board. And keeping an eye on the board to make sure they don't pull anything!"

Cole smiled at his former client. "I'm glad to be here, Heyes. After what you've put up with, it's great that you're this close to graduating and getting to teach. Now let's get you the rest of the way. Good to see you again, Professor Homer."

Charlie shook the lawyer's hand. "Good to see you, Cole! But we have more need of you than just that brief statement and riding herd on this little hearing. We have a pressing legal question."

Cole looked curious. "Sure thing, Professor Homer. What is it that you couldn't wire or write to me?"

"We'd better have more privacy before we ask you that," said Heyes cautiously, with his eyes sweeping the lobby to make sure that nobody among the teaming crowds was paying them too much attention. "Let's go to Charlie's place." They took a cab and went up the stairs to Charlie's brownstone apartment.

As the trio got in Heyes' advisor's door and went back to the parlor, Cole said, in embarrassment, "Um, gentlemen, I hate to ask, but is there a place I can stay?"

Heyes said, "Sure. The Black Eagle Hotel is good, cheap, and close."

Now Cole looked really uncomfortable. Avoiding his client's eyes, he said, "Heyes, I really doubt that they would accept me."

Heyes looked startled, then embarrassed. Charlie looked with compassion at the young lawyer with his soft brown skin and hazel eyes, but he directed his words to Heyes. "I'm afraid he's right, Heyes. Most New York hotels won't accept people who aren't white. Most hotels anywhere in this supposedly fair country are whites only. But don't worry, Cole. I've got plenty of space for you here."

"You're sure you don't mind?" Cole asked, suddenly sounding very young and uncertain.

Charlie replied, "Of course not! The bed's made and ready. Got towels out for you. Take a seat, please."

Cole was grateful, not only to be asked to stay but even to be allowed to sit in a white man's parlor. He could not take either of these for granted. Heyes almost whispered guiltily to his lawyer. "Sorry, Cole. I should have known. The Kid and I, we run up against some rejections. Especially now that people know our real names. But we've done stuff to deserve it. You don't." Cole shrugged. The routine racial prejudice of his day was something he had lived with all his life.

As they sat down, Cole looked back and forth between Heyes and Charlie and asked, "Alright gentlemen. What's this mysterious question?"

"Privileged communication?" asked Heyes, using his favorite piece of legalese.

Now Cole was really curious. "Hand me a dollar as an official retainer and I can received privileged communication from you, Heyes."

Heyes dug a wrinkled dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to Cole. Then he asked, "Now that we have amnesty, can someone admit to having helped us elude the law? Or would they get arrested for aiding and abetting?"

Cole looked skeptical. "You're thinking of someone who wants to speak for you at Columbia, I suppose."

"Just answer the question, please, Mr. Lawyer," said Heyes.

Cole's eye brows went up. "It depends."

"Typical lawyer!" exclaimed Heyes. "Just what does it depend on, Cole?"

"Everything. What kind of aiding and abetting we're talking about. When and where it took place. Every state's laws are different."

Heyes asked again. "You're sure nobody's gonna get arrested if we tell you?"

Cole said emphatically, "It's privileged communication, Heyes. Nobody's going to get arrested. Or at least not on my evidence. If you do something stupid and expose it to someone later, it's not my fault."

"Fair enough," said Heyes apprehensively, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "We're talking Colorado nearly six years ago. Not knowing who we were or what we were wanted for, but knowing that we were wanted, . . . someone hid us from a posse."

Cole knew enough of the story to immediately guess what Heyes was referring to. "This would be Catherine Christy? The lady who's engaged to Jed Curry?"

Heyes sighed. "You know too much about me, Cole! Yes, it would be."

Cole paused for a long moment. "She's probably fine, but I'm not positive. I'd need to look up the case law for Colorado. I hope I could do that in the Columbia University law library, or one of the other libraries here abouts, but it would take time. And I'm not sure how that would interact with New York law. I'd need to look that up, too. We've got less than one day, so I might not have enough time to dig out all of the relevant case law. And, frankly, they might not let a person of color use the library without a letter of recommendation. Or maybe even with one. So just to be on the safe side, I'd keep her from speaking unless you're positive no such question will come up."

Later that evening, Cat, the Kid, Heyes, Beth, Charlie, and Cole met in Charlie's parlor. Everyone else was seated except the nervously pacing Heyes. He came to a momentary stop opposite Cat, who was sitting with Jed as usual. "So, as Cole advises, Cat, you really shouldn't speak for me," said Heyes.

"No dice, Heyes," replied Cat testily. "If I don't speak, it's gonna look mighty suspicious. I'd be the one close friend keeping silent. I just gotta hope nobody asks me about the posse. I wouldn't think they would, would you? I mean, if I'm a character witness, I'm there to talk about what kind of man you are. I wouldn't have to talk about every little thing that happened."

"Probably," said Charlie, speaking up about a procedure that he knew better than anyone else present. "But they could ask anything. This isn't a court of law. They don't have to have a legal reason for a question. They just have to ask. If you refused to answer a question, it might not get you in legal trouble right then. But it could later if somebody gets suspicious and consults the law."

"Cat, I've got plenty of people. They'd never miss you. I don't want to put you in danger, after all you've done for me," said Heyes.

"Sweetie, I wish to heck you wouldn't take the chance," said Curry. "Think of . . ."

Cat cut him off. "No, Jed! Stop being so damned . . . what do they call it, Beth, so . . ."

"Chivalrous?" guessed Beth. "Like an old time knight in shining armor?"

"That's it, Beth. That's Jed all over. Just stop it, honey! Heyes needs me. I don't want to leave him looking bad. If I didn't speak, it'd leave a hole that folks would notice. We can't risk that. And that's that. I'm speaking." Cat folded her arms to signal that the debate was at an end.

Jed Curry put his arms around Cat and gave her a tender kiss. "Cat, you are the greatest lady I ever knew. Pardon me, Beth – maybe it's a tie."

Beth smiled. "Hey, Jed, I'm complemented just to be in the running with somebody I admire that much."

Heyes came back to Cat."Thank you! I'm more in your debt that I'll ever be able to repay. Just please, keep it short. That's what they keep telling me. And in your case, it's the safest thing."

"I never was one to lecture, professor," smirked Cat. "I leave that to you."

Heyes opened his mouth to defend himself from this charge, but then he closed his lips. He supposed Cat might be right. Heyes just turned to his advisor, "So Charlie, you've got 'em all lined up? All the Columbia grad students, the clinic folks . . . Boy, I wish we could find Lom safe and sound someplace!"

Charlie nodded. "Me, too. But yeah, Heyes, other than Lom Trevors, they're all lined up. We both know who they are. They all know when and where the meeting is and what to do. They all know just to answer questions and speak the truth. We've even got a place lined up for lunch. We're all set, Heyes! So please just stop fidgeting and worrying. Get a good night's sleep, give your little talk. Keep it brief. Answer questions. Listen. Wait. And graduate with two degrees with honors, Mr. Hannibal Heyes!"

"Yeah, alright, Charlie, folks. It's all set. I'm grateful to you all. It's all fine. So why don't I feel calm and ready for this?" Heyes rubbed his head where he had been shot.

Charlie gave his student a cock-eyed smile. "Heyes, you've always mistrusted authority. Considering your history, I don't blame you. And you and the kind of business leaders who are on the board don't sound like a real good mix to me, either, considering how often you've robbed trains and banks."

"You give me such confidence, Charlie," quipped Heyes.

Charlie's eyes gleamed. "Well, that's one side. On the other side, you have that sparkling academic record of yours, which is still hard for me to believe. And you've got a lot of folks in your corner, Heyes. You've got a university president and I'm guessing at least one dean, not to mention a whole crowd of students and friends and doctors and . . . well," he gestured around the room at Heyes' most important supporters. "We won't let anybody be unfair to you. We just won't stand for it."

Heyes chuckled and looked around the room. "Thanks, Charlie, and everybody. I do appreciate it. I just keep wondering if you're all sticking your necks out for a guy who's not worth it."

Beth spoke up, getting to her feet and taking her fiancé's hand. "That, Mr. Heyes, is up to us to judge. And we wouldn't be here, any of us, if we didn't think you were worth it. So get a good night's sleep and let us go to work for you."

Heyes grinned self-consciously. "Thanks, honey. I'll try."

As they walked back to Beth's room through the darkened streets of New York in the soft early summer air, she snuggled up to her man. A nearly full moon shown down on them. "Heyes, my love, you're going to be fine. You'll do your usual brilliant job. Justice will win out. The law's already come out on your side. Now you just have to convince a couple of harmless academics and some nice board members."

Heyes grimaced. "One of them's president of the good old Union Pacific Railroad – our favorite target. And another one is a bank president. We never robbed one of his banks, but I doubt that'll warm him up. Well, I made my bed years ago. Now I've got to lie in it. Alone, for at least one more night. Good-night, love."

He kissed Beth again, as passionately as he dared to in a public street where they were far from alone. Beth finally freed herself and reluctantly climbed the steps to the brownstone where she rented a room. As she got to the door she turned and looked at Heyes, standing on the sidewalk below and looking up at her. She thought what a strange world it was where a quiet tutor could wind up engaged to Hannibal Heyes the retired outlaw. And where a Kansas farm boy could become a notorious outlaw and later, just maybe, a university professor. Or he could if he was very lucky and played his cards just right. Beth blew Heyes one more kiss before she went in the door and locked it carefully behind her.

Beth looked out the brownstone's front window at Heyes as he walked slowly back to his own room in the silvery moonlight. She found his slightly awkward walk, exacerbated by his partner's bullet in his hip, sweetly endearing. How tempted she was to run after him!

Heyes was pondering his situation as he ambled down the New York streets he had come to know so well in the last more than five years. His hands were in his pockets, his habitual eastern substitute for resting them on his gun belt.

Heyes' mind was far away as he opened the door to the building where his rented room was. His door was down a dark hall. As he got near the door, he belatedly realized that someone was standing near his door in the shadows. Heyes pulled his gun out of his jacket pocket. "Don't try it, boy!" said a hostile voice.

Heyes smiled. "Kid! Don't sneak up on me like that. I could'a blown your fool head off!"

"Sorry, Heyes. Thought you knew I was here. Charlie loaned me his key to your building. You mind if I come in for a minute?" asked Jed Curry.

Heyes opened the door, almost embarrassed to have his partner see him use an ordinary key rather than a picklock. "Sure, come on in. Just don't stay long. I got to get a good night's sleep. Least a dozen folks have told me that today and I figure they've got a point."

"They're right about that, I guess," said Curry as he followed his partner into his rented room. He had never been there before and looked around curiously. "I didn't guess anybody could fit this many books in one room, Heyes. Wow! And they ain't all math, neither. What's this?" He pulled a slender leather-bound volume out of a precarious stack at random.

Heyes cringed as a bunch of book cascaded onto Curry's feet. Finally, when the noise of the falling books and Curry's obscenities had subsided, Heyes looked at the spine of the book in his partner's hand.

Heyes observed, "Hamlet. My favorite Shakespeare play. And don't do that again, Kid. You could get hurt!"

Curry rubbed uselessly at his shoes. "Could get hurt! I'll be limpin' for a week!"

"Well, you earned it," chuckled Heyes. "Reminds me of my whole life, right now. One thing goes wrong and it'll all fall in. And you, and Beth, and Cat could get hurt. So I'd really better get to sleep and be all ready for tomorrow. What'd you come for anyhow, Kid?"

Curry had given up on correcting his partner about his name, at least until after his hearing by the board was over. "Just came to wish you luck. You know I'm on your side."

Heyes said, "Thanks, Jed. I surely do appreciate it. It works the other way, too. When you get your badge, I'll be there for you. Just tell me when and where."

Curry replied, "I hope you won't be too far off after that, too. Those deputies just ain't the same as you at watchin' my back. And we've got a boy or girl comin' who'll wanna have Uncle Heyes around."

Heyes grinned brilliantly. "Uncle Heyes! That sounds fine to me. You know I want to teach out West, Jed. I haven't heard of any openings in Colorado yet, but I'm watching for them. U.C. doesn't have money for a real math prof, last I heard."

Curry was puzzled. "You see? What am I supposed to see?"

Heyes translated. "Not words, Jed, initials - U.C. – The University of Colorado. Over in Boulder."

"Oh," said Jed. That sure would be nice, havin' you that close, Heyes. So not now. Maybe someday. But you got to graduate first. Guess I'd best get back to the hotel. Less you want me to stay?"

Heyes replied irritably, "Jed, I don't need you to watch me like a cowboy with a nervous herd! There's nobody looking to kidnap me or shoot me."

"Guess not nowadays," admitted Curry. "Well, good-night, Heyes." He clapped his partner on the shoulder.

"Good-night, Jed. And thanks."

That night Heyes tossed and turned on his thin old mattress. He just couldn't settle in to sleep. His brain refused to turn off for the night. He kept worrying about being up and ready for his hearing with the board of Columbia University at 9:00 sharp the next morning.

Finally, Heyes gave up on a good night's sleep and got up earlier than he really needed to. Yawning, he put on his robe and went out to the sink in the hall near his door to wash up and shave. Then he sat back down on his bed, still yawning. Suddenly Heyes woke up with a start and looked at the clock. It was after 8:00 and he hadn't even gotten dressed or had breakfast! He dressed and brushed his still very short hair in a near panic. He dashed down the street to the new deli where he had started getting breakfast and made do with a quick cup of coffee and a bagel.

The adrenalin began to flow as Heyes paced up and down the street trying in vain to hail a cab. There were none to be found. Heyes just lived in too poor a neighborhood for cabs to want to go there. He had to walk several blocks to the vicinity of a hotel before he found a cab. So by the time he got to Columbia, he was running up the steps of the main building to get to the conference room only seconds before 9:00.

Heyes stopped to catch his breath. As he raised his hand to knock on the conference room door, Charlie came up behind him. His voice made his advisee jump in surprise. "They're running late, Heyes. Can't get all those board members gathered. And they want you and all of us to wait here in the next room anyhow so they can talk without our hearing them. So hurry up and wait. Sorry you had to run for nothing."

"Ain't it always the way, Charlie?" asked Heyes.

Inside the large classroom where his friends were gathering, Heyes was greeted with relief.  
"Oh Heyes, there you are!" exclaimed Beth. "What on earth kept you?"

Heyes came up close enough that their conversation wouldn't be widely overheard and admitted, "I overslept. Just couldn't sleep and drifted back off after I got up." He tried to suppress a yawn.

"Heyes! How . . ." Beth started, and then she stopped herself from berating Heyes. Instead she went to his side. He put an arm around her. She said, "You're going to do wonderfully, Heyes, you know you will! Just remember, you're dealing with fellow mortals. Arrogant and self-important fellow mortals, but you know how to deal with guys like them. Alright?"

"Alright, honey!" said Heyes, giving Beth a squeeze. She went to sit back down at a desk, not wanting to distract her fiancée too much right now.

Heyes walked up and down the rows of seats shaking hands. "Thank you so much!" He said to Dr. Leutze.

"I'm delighted to have the opportunity to help you start your academic career, Heyes!" said the doctor happily.

Heyes had similar conversations with nearly every friend. "I really appreciate it, Jim."

"Glad t-to help out, Heyes!" said Heyes' old roommate.

"Heyes, boy you're close now! It's a treat to get to be here for it!" said NG, taking his friend's hand.

"It's wonderful to have you!" said Heyes.

"Wow, I never thought I'd get to testify for Hannibal Heyes!" said the Missouri Kid, his voice squeaking with excitement. Heyes grinned, glad to have Huxtable's support once again.

Heyes stood back and spoke to the gathering, "Everybody, no matter what happens, I sure am thankful to you for coming." Nearly everyone was there – Beth, Cat, Jed, NG, Ev Carter, Huxtable, Tom O'Keeffe, Diana Hargrove, Jim, Polly, Dr. Goldstein, and Dr. Leutze. Heyes was glad not to see Matthias Peale. He, like Cat, could actually put himself and his family in danger by speaking for Heyes. So the former outlaw had made it very clear that he didn't expect or want Peale to come.

Heyes smiled at Diana Hargrove, "Thanks for turning out for me, Diana! I hope it won't cause you political problems!"

"Oh come on, Heyes!" said the English professor, "They all know I'm in your corner!"

"And me, too!" added Tom O'Keeffe, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Just let me at those deans and businessmen! I'll tell'em all how great you are, Hannibal Heyes!"

Heyes' heart was pounding fast as he thought of all the people who were speaking up for him, and counting on him. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Heyes jumped up to answer it. He expected someone from the deans. But it wasn't. "Sheriff Wilde, I sure am grateful to you for coming all this way!" said Heyes in delighted surprise, shaking the law-man's hand. "You haven't heard from Lom Trevors, have you? I've been trying to contract him for days and haven't heard a word back. If anybody but us would hear, it'd be you."

Wilde shook Heyes' hand heartily, but he said, "No, Heyes. I ain't heard a peep out of Lom. So I thought I'd better come myself."

"Hi there, Wilde!" called Curry, coming over to shake his boss's hand.

Heyes called over his Columbia pals. "Hey, NG, Ev, Huxtable, come over here. This is Sheriff Harvey Wilde from Louisville, Colorado. He's the guy who's giving his star to the Kid. We'd sure have been in prison a long time ago if not for him. Not that he didn't make us sweat about it!"

The sheriff smiled as he shook the three graduate students' hands. "Wow, we get to meet a real sheriff!" said Huxtable.

"What, an ordinary sheriff's more excitin' than the most famous outlaws in the whole West?" asked Wilde with a chuckle.

"What, him? Oh, we've known him for years. He's no big deal," said young Huxtable with a humorous wink at the former Joshua Smith.

The Kid and Heyes took a peek out of the door and saw a last solemn figure going into the conference room. The Kid asked his partner, "Heyes, how do you get into things like this?"

Heyes shrugged. "I don't know, Kid. I'm just glad to have you around to help get me out of 'em."

"Fast draw, partner, ain't gonna' get you out of this one," muttered the Kid.

"Guess not, Kid, but I'm glad you're here anyhow," said Heyes. "And by the way, that guy we just saw go in, the guy with the diamond cuff links? That's Robert Harris."

"Union Pacific?" asked the Kid.

"President of the Board. Thought you'd keep up with the railroad news like we used to. When I was still Joshua Smith, Charlie introduced him to me. Can you believe he offered me money for school? Course I didn't dare take it. When I think of the fits we gave those guys! Wonder what he thinks of me now?"

"Guess you're about to find out, Heyes." said Curry, "I'm just glad it ain't me. Good luck, partner!"

The next knock at the door was the one that Heyes had been waiting for. He recognized the university president's young secretary. "Mr. Heyes, they're ready for you and your lawyer. Professor Homer told us about Mr. Cole. Sorry for the wait. President Barnard finally has them all ready. He said to keep it brief. They're restless."

"Brief it is," said Heyes, beckoning Cole to join him. Heyes' heart was racing, but outwardly he looked as calm as if he had been going to crack a safe in the old days.

In the conference room, Heyes found himself standing opposite a long, highly polished mahogany table. The secretary showed Cole to a ladder back chair against the wall behind Heyes. Across from Heyes, at the center of the table sat the grey-bearded president. He was flanked by the very ample Dean Hager of Columbian College on his left, smiling broadly, and the more solemn mustachioed Dean Galbraith of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences on his right. Heyes hoped at least Dean Hager would be on his side. Three bearded and elegantly suited board members sat along each side of the large table, talking quietly back and forth to each other. Heyes had met only one of them before. He felt utterly unsure of what their reactions would be to him except that some were sure to be hostile. Seeing that the president was ready to begin, Heyes stood respectfully opposite the conference table. He felt nine keen pairs of eyes trained on him.

"Ahem!" The president cleared his throat loudly. The talk around the conference table subsided only gradually. Some of the men at the table were far more powerful, and far, far wealthier than any university president. President Barnard looked around at the recalcitrant board members. He cleared his throat again and achieved something closer to silence.

Finally he spoke in his clear, cultivated New England tenor, "Since everyone is here, Mr. Heyes, Mr. Cole, deans, and gentlemen of the board, I supposed that we had better get started. To put it succinctly, we are here to decide whether Hannibal Heyes may graduate using the credits he earned under his alias, Joshua Smith." Some of the varied board members looked downright hostile – Robert Harris among them. One portly, white bearded gentleman was positively scowling. Heyes suspected that it might be Hibbings Pinkham, president of the Trust Bank of the North East. No banker had ever cottoned to Hannibal Heyes.

The President continued, "There can be no doubt of Mr. Heyes' academic credentials, which are some of the highest ever attained at this institution. His teaching has earned him the annual teaching assistant award. And he has just had an article appear, credited to Joshua Smith, in _The Journal of Mathematical Inquiry_. We have already met with Mr. Heyes' advisor and all of his professors. Every one of them, Mr. Heyes, praised your hard work and brilliant academic achievements."

Heyes could hardly believe that one of his professors in particular, would actually have praised him. The President, knowing his own professors well, smiled. "Yes, Mr. Heyes every one of them. I know who you are wondering about. Believe me, Professor Reynolds was impressed that, coming from your background, you were able to earn a very honest A from him." The graduate school dean and some of the board members chuckled. They, too, knew Professor Reynolds. "All of these honors and distinctions, gentlemen, are undisputed. The question is whether we may honorably, honestly, and without damage to our institution and its other graduates, grant a BA and an MA to Hannibal Heyes the notorious former outlaw and convicted, but now pardoned, felon."

Heyes had to make an effort to keep his eyes fixed on the men before him, rather than the floor. In this company, the statement of his dirty past was terribly shaming. The President paused. "Mr. Heyes, would you like to make a statement to the board and deans of Columbia University?"

Heyes said quietly but firmly. "Yes, Mr. President. If you will hear me, I would like to speak."

Heyes paused and met the eyes of each of the board members and deans in turn, winding up looking into the eyes of the President. Heyes spoke slowly, by his old silver-tongued standards, wary of his aphasia. He resisted the urge to pace as he would have in a classroom. He kept eye contact with his audience. "Mr. President, Deans, Members of the Board of Columbia University, it has been a privilege for me to attend this university. I cannot dispute that I began my association with this school under false pretenses, through no fault but my own. I wanted an education so that I could earn the honest living. I apologize that I resorted to unfair means to gain that education." Heyes was surprised to see no fidgeting and no loss of attention among his audience.

"There is no excuse that I can offer for my many sins. I came from a difficult background it is true, but so have many men who have lived honest lives. I began my life by making the wrong choices. But in the last seven years I have done everything I can to reverse those early choices. I feel very grateful to have been offered the means to rise from my low background through study at this university. Through the help and support of many people I have been able to transform my life. I lied to them about who I was, and yet not one of them has deserted me on learning the truth.

I am prepared now, if given the opportunity, to use my education to help transform the lives of other men and women. I know from bitter experience that ignorance is a widespread and devastating problem in this country. It was largely due to my own ignorance that I went wrong to begin with. If I can help to educate young people, perhaps I can actually be a helpful influence where once I was nothing but a bane. Gentlemen, I just want to help people. If you will grant me these degrees, I hope to do just that. You may not believe my words. In the past I was too well known for lying. But perhaps you will believe the people who have come here to speak for me. Thank you for listening to me and to them."

Silence fell as Heyes finished. Heyes looked between the faces of the men seated before him. He felt that they were, one and all, considering his words. He hoped so. If they would not simply reject him out of hand, then he had a chance.

Finally the president spoke. "Thank you, Mr. Heyes. Does anyone have questions for Mr. Heyes before his advocates speak for him? You will also be able to ask him questions later."

"Mr. Heyes," asked an elderly, balding board member whom the former outlaw did not know, "how did you turn from outlawry to math? That seems a remarkable transformation, as you phrased it."

Heyes answered readily, "Actually, sir, that wasn't so great a change as you might think. I mean, morally, yes, Mr. Curry and I changed our minds about things over a long period as we started to realize what harm we were really doing. We used to think that if we didn't shoot people, nobody got hurt. We finally figured out how wrong we were. We met a family who'd been ruined by one of our thefts. And some people we liked got killed. We couldn't hide our heads any longer."

"But technically, you might be surprised how important math always was for me. I wasn't just the box man – the safe cracker – for my gangs. I was the guy who made the plans and worked out the logistics for the Devil's Hole Gang. I did it all with math and logic. I got to be pretty expert at figuring out stresses and blasts. A former teacher rode with one of my early gangs and taught me some good math. My specialty is applied math. I always did apply it. I just apply it to much better causes now."

The board member studied Heyes. "So that's why you guys were so much more successful than the other gangs. Efficiency."

Heyes nodded. Clearly, this was a canny businessman who was asking about things he understood from his own firm. Heyes answered, "Yes sir. It works much better to plan carefully than to just ride in and shoot everybody. It sure does less damage."

The balding board member shook his head. "But that's not what I wanted to ask. We know about how you got shot in the head and had to come to New York for medical treatment. We know the plot. But I mean, I'd like to hear in your own words how you decided to come to Columbia. And how you . . . how you dared to think you might be able to teach. That had to be a long stretch from being a robber."

Heyes studied his questioner. The middle-aged man was pretty canny. He was giving Heyes a very useful chance to change how the men on the board saw him, and his past. "Really, teaching's how I got the gang organized to carry out my complicated plans. They aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer, some of those guys. I had to teach them. I even had a black board put up at the Hole, so I could draw maps and diagrams and write things out for the guys who could read. And I taught some of them to read who couldn't before. It sure made it easier to get them to understand plans. When I got to New York and saw how my own teachers – first Miss Warren and then the professors at Columbia – when I saw how much they could do for me. . . Well, I wanted to be able to help other people the way my teachers had helped me. I saw how I could go from hurting to helping, but using stuff I already knew how to do. Got me pretty excited."

There was a thoughtful silence. "Mr. Heyes," asked Dean Galbraith, "you spoke of your difficult background. I understand that your parents and your partner's parents were killed in the Kansas border wars when you were small children. Who cared for you both after that?"

"No one," said Heyes.

Dean Galbraith asked, "Were you not taken into an orphanage, a so-called home for waywards, where they cared for you and educated you?"

"No!" Heyes couldn't hide his fury at that place. "The Valparaiso Home for Waywards didn't take us until I had been shot and my cousin and I had nearly starved to death. They didn't teach us much and I would not term what they did for us caring.

"Are you alleging abuse?" asked Dean Hager in shock.

Heyes hesitated. Finally he spoke in a harsh, low voice. He was only glad that the Kid wasn't there. "I do not want to muddy the waters of this hearing with such allegations. We and the other children were not well cared for. I didn't learn much there except how to pick locks and open windows. My partner and I both learned to shoot and steal. Or to steal and shoot – we stole the guns." Heyes saw some of the board members looking angrily at him as if they blamed him for what the people at the home for waywards had done to him. Heyes' began to flush with anger. But he caught his breath and got himself under control. One wrong word now could doom everything.

Hardin Cole looked at the president and held up his hand. "Sir, I must ask that this line of questioning stop. Now."

The president understood perfectly. He stood up and said. "I would like to ask for a brief pause so I can confer with Mr. Heyes. Mr. Cole, please accompany us, if Mr. Heyes doesn't mind." The President, Cole, and Heyes went into a smaller room next door.

As they got into the little neighboring office, the president spoke very quietly so that no one could possibly overhear. "Mr. Heyes, I don't have any intention of embarrassing you or your partner in front of that panel. But here in private, it would help if I could have some insight so I can protect you as much as possible. What happened to you and Mr. Curry in that place?" Cole, not knowing anything about this, paid close attention to this taut exchange, but did not interfere.

Heyes did not reply. He stood stiffly with his gaze was dull and fixed, looking away from the president and Cole. He stood frozen like that for minutes in mute agony. Finally, the president nodded. "I see. I will route questions as away from that subject."

Heyes wanted to say thank you to the president, but he couldn't speak about anything even distantly related to those horrible memories. Cole nodded his own silent thanks to the president. Finally, the president turned and went back to the board room. Heyes followed him, walking stiffly, his eyes completely blank. Cole watched his client with concern.

Heyes went to stand in front of the table again, his former ease totally shattered. The president cleared his throat. "Mr. Heyes, I understand that you and Mr. Curry escaped from the home for waywards when you were fifteen and he was thirteen years old. Was that when you took up with gangs?"

"Yes, sir." Heyes spoke with complete detachment. "We were starving and some outlaws took us in. They weren't real good to us, but they saved our lives. The Kid tried to go straight after that. I didn't until much later."

One of the board members whom Heyes did not know, a slender sandy-haired man, took the questioning in a new direction, "Mr. Heyes, we hear a lot about angry trouble-causers in this modern world. Would you call yourself an angry man?"

Heyes thought about that for only a moment. "Yes," he said, "I am angry. Very angry. I'm angry that my partner and myself were allowed to grow up in such . . . abysmal ignorance, and that young men and women are still growing up that way. I'm angry that the knowledge they need to have good lives exists, but isn't shared with them. I'm angry at the suffering and neglect that still goes on on isolated farms and in small towns and in the streets of this very city. So I hope my anger isn't useless or destructive any longer. I hope I can turn it to good. I hope I can use it to fuel my work to help the young people of this country."

"Heyes," said Robert Harris, sounding less angry than Heyes had expected, "when we met before, at that reception, of course I didn't know who you were. The president here explained the brilliance of your college work to me in glowing detail. It was impressive to me then. It still is. But can you guarantee us that Hannibal Heyes the Columbia University graduate wouldn't go back to being Hannibal Heyes the outlaw?"

Heyes flushed red. "Mr. Harris, perhaps you noticed when we met that I felt . . . bad about it. I am ashamed of what our gang did to your railroad and the . . . consequences our actions must have had for countless people. But I stand behind the description you were given of me as Joshua Smith. I will not indulge in false modesty. I am not a stupid man. Nor have I wasted the superb opportunities this university has given me to improve myself. I have worked hard here for five years. I'm planning on getting married. I want an honest, secure living for myself and my family. I don't want to be looking behind every bush for sheriffs and posses hunting me. I know what that's like! Few men know it better than my partner and I do! I want the benefits of being an honest and educated man. Now how stupid would I have to be to throw away those years of work and the security I want, for a little easy money? Or even for a lot of easy money? What stronger guarantee for my future good behavior can I offer but my academic record?"

During this speech, Harris's scowl softened only slightly and he said not a word in reply. The white-haired man that Heyes guessed was a bank president asked a high tenor voice, "Heyes, you got a lot of easy money out of banks. Will you really settle for making a professor's salary after that?"

Heyes licked his lips. He fought the urge to reply too hotly. "What we stole was never easy money, sir. It required a lot of planning and a lot of risk taking. And I don't like risks any longer. No amount of money is worth risking our lives. But much more than that, no amount of money is worth hurting other people. If I can actually make money by helping people, that's an awful lot better. That's the basis for having a family. So yes, I'm perfectly willing to put up with a small salary, just so long as it's an honest one."

There was a long pause. Heyes kept thinking that no one there, except perhaps the president and Dean Hager, believed a word that he said.

Finally, the president said, "Gentlemen, if you have no further questions for Mr. Heyes at the moment, we will proceed to his character witnesses. You will be able to further question the subject of his hearing later. The board members nodded.

"Go ahead, Mr. President," said the white-haired board member grouchily, "though I don't know what good it will do to hear from a bunch of his friends."

Heyes wished he dared to reply, saying that the board should consider how he had won such friends.

"Very well, Mr. Heyes, return to the room next door. We will call you when we are ready for you to return. Please send Professor Homer in at once," said the president. Heyes searched the old man's face for clues and found none. The president had not dared to smile at him. Heyes walked the short distance down the hall.

A dozen voices asked variants on, "Heyes, what happened?" ask the retired outlaw stepped through the door into the room full of his supporters.

"How'd it go?" asked Curry.

"I'm not sure. I just don't know," answered Heyes in a dull voice. "Charlie, they want you next. Cole can be there, but I can't. Guess they don't want me to influence what you say. Gonna about drive me crazy waiting! But Charlie, you need to go now." Heyes leaned his head on his right fist as he sat down at a desk in the back row. As Heyes finished speaking, Charlie swiftly paced down the hall. He wanted to have this move along as fast as possible. The longer it took, the more it would torture Heyes and all of his supporters.

Only a couple of minutes later, the President's secretary put his head in the door to the room where Heyes was sitting in silent anticipation surrounded by nervous friends. "Mr. Curry!" called the secretary. "Please come and speak." The Kid touched Heyes on the shoulder as he silently walked by with his jaw tight and his eyes anxious. He might easily have been going to meet a deadly gunman, from how nervous he looked. Heyes couldn't help trying to hear through the wall and figure out what was going on. What were they asking his partner? What was his partner having to say?

A few minutes later, to Heyes' relief, the secretary was back. Surely nothing too bad could have happened that fast. "Miss Christy?" he asked. Cat stood up and followed him out. Heyes, and his friends, were puzzled not to see the Kid return. And they kept worrying about what Cat might be obliged to say.

But Cat Christy did not return either before the secretary returned and called for Dr. Leutze. Obviously the character witnesses who had spoken were not to be allowed to color the testimony of those to speak after them. They must be going to another room after they spoke. Heyes sat in worried silence, wondering desperately what was going on next door. One by one, his friends left him.

At least, only Tom O'Keeffe was left with his former tutor. "Mr. Heyes, you know everybody's got good stuff to say about you. Don't worry! I'll make sure those guys know what a good guy you are and what a great professor you'll make."

"Thanks, Tom! If only they'll believe you," replied Heyes.

When Tom was called away, the room was left with only the one nervous man in it. He got up and paced back and forth to keep his blood moving, much as he had in solitary confinement in prison. Minute after minute went by. There was a much longer wait after Tom was called than after anyone else. Obviously, it was not just Tom speaking. Something else was going on. The board couldn't already be deliberating – they had promised to question Heyes again before that. But what if they had decided that they had no more questions? Heyes paced in rising anxiety.

Finally, there was a familiar knock on the door. The secretary stepped in. "Mr. Heyes, we called a group of your students to speak. They spoke for Joshua Smith. They don't know your real name and they are getting very curious as to why they were called to speak on your behalf. We thought you might prefer to be the person to tell them who you really are."

"Alright," said Heyes, pulling himself back together, "I'm coming."

Heyes found a group of four of his best students, all young men, standing before the conference table. They included the handsome blonde Billy Clark, who was the student who had asked Heyes about why he had trouble speaking when he was teaching.

It was Billy who turned to Heyes. "Mr. Smith, what is this about?" he asked tensely, "Why does the board of the university need to hear from your students? Why are they asking us all these questions?"

Heyes had a hard time meeting the young man's eyes. "Because they need to decide whether or not to grant me my degrees, my B.A. and M.A., Mr. Clark."

"But of course they have to grant you your degrees!" said Billy Clark emphatically, glancing back and forth between Heyes and the board. "Why wouldn't they? And why do you look so worried, Mr. Smith?"

Heyes felt as guilty as he ever had in his life. "I'm sorry you four ever had to get involved in this. The reason, Mr. Clark, and the rest of you, why the board is unsure whether to graduate me is because I lied to them. I lied to nearly everyone. My name isn't Joshua Smith. That's an alias that I've used since my partner and I gave up being criminals. My name is Hannibal Heyes."

Four mouths fells opened. Four young students stepped away from Heyes. One of the other students, a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man named Peter Thorpe, spoke up. "Hannibal Heyes the outlaw?"

Heyes nodded. "Yes, Mr. Thorpe. I'm Hannibal Heyes the former outlaw."

Thorpe now fixed his accusing gaze not on his former teacher but on the board. "How did you dare set an outlaw to teach us? Our parents paid for us to have real, honest teachers! And you gave us an outlaw? And not just any outlaw – the worst outlaw there is! We should sue!"

Heyes studied the floor. He could say nothing to this. The guy had a point. He was voicing some of Heyes' own worst insecurities about himself and his academic career.

Charlie Homer, who had been standing behind the conference table, said, "Peter, Mr. Heyes left crime behind a long time ago. He and his partner have been granted a pardon and amnesty. We assigned him to you as a teaching assistant because he's the best. He won an award for being the best teaching assistant at this university, and he deserved it. His name shouldn't matter. What he can do should. He's one of the finest young mathematicians in the world. He used to use those gifts to steal. Now uses them to teach. What's wrong with that?"

Young Thorpe looked in pain and anger at Charlie Homer. He spoke in a tense whisper. "It was a lie. That's what's wrong. I'm sorry, Professor Homer, but that's what I think." He didn't apologize to Heyes. Perhaps he didn't want to say that name or look into those pained brown eyes.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Thorpe," said Heyes. "If I could turn back the clock and change my past, I would. But I can't."

Charlie Homer said, "If you can prove that anything Mr. Heyes taught you was wrong, go ahead. But if what he's teaching is right, why does it matter who teaches it? Does his name matter more than what he does?"

There was a low murmur among the board members. The president said, "Students, I thank you for speaking. Mr. Heyes did not ask you to come. The request was mine. And it was my responsibility that you were given a teaching assistant whose true name you did not know. If you're mad at anyone, it should be me."

None of the students dared to address the president. "Go on your way, Mr. Clark, Mr. Thorpe, Mr. Pearce, Mr. Hawes, with my thanks. And you are welcome to tell your parents or anyone else what happened here today. We cannot keep this a secret. I would ask you not to speak to the press, but that would be only to protect yourselves personally."

When the students had left, the president addressed the board. "Gentlemen, do you have further questions for Mr. Heyes?"

A board member from whom Heyes had not yet heard, the youngest of the bearded men at the table, asked, "Heyes, why did you ever start these degrees, knowing how this had to end?"

Heyes answered him, "Sir, I have often asked myself that question. I have to say, that since I was a small boy, I've wanted a good education. Until I came to New York, I had no chance to get it. When my tutor at the Leutze Clinic said to me that she thought I would do well in college, I just couldn't resist. I've always wanted to study, and I've always wanted to teach. How I wound up doing something so far from it for most of my life, would be hard for me to tell you. Mostly, I guess it was the accidents of the circumstances around me. I feel like it's only now that I'm getting to do what I was meant to do- if you will allow it. It would be a great favor to me if you would grant me these degrees. But I hope it would also be a favor to my future students. I would try my best for them, always."

The president said, "Gentlemen, I doubt we will ever hear a better conclusion for this hearing than that. Are you prepared to deliberate?" All of the men at the table nodded. "Mr. Heyes, I guess that you had better go next door to wait."

As Heyes turned and went down the hall, he heard someone coming after him with rapid strides. He looked back to find Robert Harris the railroad man looking at him. "Heyes," he said gruffly, "would you consider working for me?"

"Sir?" asked Heyes, baffled.

Harris gave Heyes a keen look. "Seems to me that there would be no one better than a train robber with a gift for math to get the trains to run on time and without being robbed. So would you work for me at the Union Pacific, Heyes? We'd pay you well."

"Sir," said Heyes, "I'm complemented that you would want me. I sure could use the money. But I've promised four governors that I would try to get a teaching position in their states before I go for any other work. And I've promised my fiancé and myself that I will try to teach before I do anything else. So I appreciate the offer, but I can't take you up on it if there's any chance at all that I can teach. Thanks, but no thanks. At least for now."

Harris nodded. And he smiled at Heyes in a way that the former outlaw couldn't figure out. Before Heyes could ask about it, Harris had turned and was walking quickly back to the conference room.

Heyes went and sat by himself in the classroom where his friends had been before. He felt too emotionally drained even to pace. He just sat, staring blankly at the wall. It seemed like a long time went by with Heyes left there alone in silence.

Then there came a familiar soft rap at the door. It was the president's secretary. "Mr. Heyes. Please come back to the conference room with me." Heyes tried to read the young man's features, but he turned away too quickly and walked ahead of Heyes.

Heyes followed the secretary back into the board room. The board, deans, and president sat silent at their table. Heyes stood at attention and waited. All of their faces were impassive. The president finally spoke in a studiedly neutral voice. "Mr. Heyes, you will report to this room at 10:00 tomorrow morning. Thank you."

Heyes could hardly believe it. They were going to make him wait another day for their decision. He felt crushed. But he kept his discipline. He said "Thank you, sir," very quietly. Heyes turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

Just before the former outlaw got to the door, the president called to him, "Mr. Heyes, my secretary has something that you're going to need tomorrow morning."

Heyes turned. The smiling secretary handed him a large soft fabric bundle with a hard flat square on the bottom. Heyes opened one end of the sack and peeked in.

Inside was a voluminous garment made of gleaming soft blue velvet. Heyes had never attended a college commencement, but he knew a Columbia University master's gown when he saw it and held it in his suddenly trembling arms. Heyes looked up at the president in disbelief.

"Wear that Columbia blue proudly, young man!" said the president.

His words were followed by a restrained round of applause from the deans and board of Columbia University. They started to their feet and extended their hands, Dean Hager from Columbia College first among them. "Congratulations, Mr. Heyes!" said Dean Hager with a broad smile. "When you said that you were protecting two lives with your silence, I surely never dreamed that one of our students was wanted dead or alive. I can't say how glad I am that is no longer the case."

Heyes gratefully took his hand. "I can't believe it. Thank you! Thank you, Dean Hager, Dean Galbraith, Mr. President and all of you gentlemen! I will strive to be worthy of the honor."

The President was next to shake Heyes' hand. Heyes said, "Mr. President, I'm in your debt. I know you did you best for me."

"I did my best for Columbia, Mr. Heyes," said the president. "I know that you will, as well."

"I sure will!" responded Heyes, aglow with triumph.

Then there was a procession of board members. Even the bank president gave Heyes a handshake, if not a smile. Last came Mr. Harris of the Union Pacific. Heyes said, "Thank you, Mr. Harris." Under his breath he added with a sly wink, "Sir, never try to con a con man. Your offer was one last test, wasn't it?"

Harris said, "Don't be so sure, Heyes. You've turned me down twice, but you may need me yet."


End file.
